


At The End of Storms

by apolla



Series: The Lords of Storm’s End [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Almost certainly Canon-Divergence after the next episode, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Being A Baratheon, F/M, Gen, Happy Ever After Means Different Things To Different People, Learning how to be a Lord, Yet Another Work In Progress, after the war is won, finding happiness, post-season 8, small references to 8x5, sort of maybe somehow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-09-15
Packaged: 2020-02-29 15:16:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 26,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18780859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apolla/pseuds/apolla
Summary: The Last War is over. Gendry Baratheon goes home for the first time to construct a life for himself and the people of the Stormlands, who've been without a Lord Paramount for years.Storm's End is perfect. A life of potential happiness stretches out ahead.It's perfect. Almost.





	1. Love at First Sight

**Author's Note:**

> I know I need to get my other fics finished (and sorry if you're reading those and waiting on updates - they are coming!) but this grabbed me by the brain and wouldn't let go.
> 
> If you know that thing where you hear songs and suddenly they're All About Your Ship? That's what happened.
> 
> This was actually borne out of a chat with a friend - we talked a bit about the lordship and whether Gendry could/would give it up and what it means to him after a life of, if not outright poverty, then certainly struggle. Who gives that up even for 'love'? I don't think it's fair to ask or expect that and does his character a disservice, especially Book!Gendry who is bigger and angrier altogether!

Gendry fell in love at first sight only once. He sat atop a huge black destrier he hadn’t yet grown used to; his fine clothes and boots were not yet worn in, and he felt much unlike himself. Only the armour felt right, and that was because he had made it himself.

Yet, as he looked at Storm’s End, Gendry fell in love. If he genuinely believed that blood was a signifier of anything much, he might have ascribed the feeling to ancestral memories of home.

The ride through the Kingswood had been smooth enough, and as he’d never seen the Stormlands before, the journey was diverting - until he’d reached the cusp of a hill and found Storm’s End laid out in the distance.

The vast curtain wall told him of safety and security; the massive drum tower was as sturdy, broad and powerful as the Baratheons themselves. Even shrouded in sea mist and with wind-turned rain swirling around it, Storm’s End was plain in design but majestic in scale and strength.

The lands before the castle were richly green, rolling fields and beyond the castle, Shipbreaker Bay rolled, roiled and crashed.  
  
‘Don’t stare too long in this weather, lad!’ Ser Davos called from his own saddle. ‘Wouldn’t do for our new lord to catch a fatal cold before reaching home.’

Home. What a word. He’d once assumed he’d live and die in Flea Bottom, but it hadn’t been home once his mother died. Another kind of home had once seemed possible until he’d spoken in haste, his euphoria taking over his meaning. He blinked rain from his eyes and spurred his horse to move once more.

Gendry and Ser Davos rode together down towards the great castle, the Baratheon men following behind with sigils flying. Gendry’s heart thumped against his armour at the sight of the portcullis opening for him and the people waiting in neat lines to greet him.

Gendry was still taken aback by how easily the Storm Lords had accepted him as the master of Storm’s End. He credited this mostly to Ser Davos’ ability to persuade his fellow Stormlanders of Gendry’s usefulness - if not necessarily worthiness - and the lack of leadership from Storm’s End for so long. He also supposed that his undeniably strong resemblance to his long-dead father and uncles played its part, and he was faintly grateful to those strangers for it. He failed to consider in any detail that his own reputation as a tireless fighter during the Long Night had anything to do with his success at calling his banners to ride for King’s Landing in Daenerys Targaryen’s name.

There was little doubt that the forces from the Stormlands were vital in Daenerys’ ultimate victory and that she owed the man she had legitimised to have a tame lord in her pocket rather more than she might have liked to admit.

Now, the Last War was over - would he ever call it ‘Last’ with a straight face? Perhaps not. He’d lived too long and seen too much peace turn to war too quickly.

He brought his horse to a halt and jumped down before anyone could assist, and considered the gathering before him. Mostly, he wished they wouldn’t stand out in the rain for him, but felt this would be impolite to voice. A young stable-boy darted out to take the reins and lead the horse to the stables for cooling-down.

Davos had warned him that Storm’s End had been neglected since the death of false King Stannis and that there had not been a castellan since Ser Cortnay Penrose was killed, and so it was left to a Maester with an impressively long chain to greet him.

‘Lord Baratheon!’ He bowed. ‘Storm’s End is yours. Welcome.’

‘Thank you, Maester-’

‘Elwyne, my lord.’

‘Maester Elwyne. Shall we get all these good people out of the rain?’

‘As you say, my lord.’ The Maester called everyone to gather instead in the main hall.

‘This way, lad.’ Davos took Gendry through the yards to the drum tower. Solid wooden doors led inside to a castle as plain and vast on the inside as on the outside: smooth silver-grey stone walls and floors lit by flickering torches.

The feast hall bore some decoration - gold-and-black Baratheon sigils for the most part, and a simple tapestry - but was mostly just huge. A fire roared in the large hearth, to which Gendry hastened.

‘The rain gets right to your bones,’ he said, trying to stop his teeth chattering now he was out of the weather and feeling only cold and wet.

Davos peeled his own cloak off before helping Gendry with his. ‘True. You’ll get used to it.’

Gendry flexed his numb fingers. ‘Really?’

‘Probably not, no,’ Ser Davos conceded. ‘I found going to sea helped.’

‘Not an immediate choice for me. How often does it rain in the Stormlands?’

‘Wrong question. There’s rain, then there are storms, and then there are Storms. If you’re asking how often it’s dry, then... best not to ask.’

Gendry could not help the smile that broadened out across his face as he felt the fire warm him - all the cosier for the weather outside. ‘I don’t think I mind.’

‘You belong here, Lord Baratheon. It’s your blood.’

‘After everything, we’ve seen and done, do you really think it works like that?’

Davos shrugged. ‘I’ve seen men and women born high and low do great things and terrible things, so no. But seeing you swing a hammer and how you fight like the fury of all the storms since Elenei... I don’t think it’s nothing either.’

Maester Elwyne brought the people of Storm’s End to meet Gendry: the cook and her staff; the stable master, farrier and the grooms; to the men who had not been able to ride out with the banners; to the women who kept Storm’s End in good order; to the blacksmith Merrell.

Gendry gripped the blacksmith’s hand warmly. ‘I’m sure we’ll have much to talk about, Master Smith. And I hope you won’t mind if I come and beat the shit out of some iron every now and then?’

‘The smithy is yours, my lord.’

‘I was an apprentice long enough to know how it works, Merrell. It’s your domain.’

‘As you like, my Lord. I’m sure I’ve much to learn from you.’

‘And I from you.’

‘Did you really forge dragon glass?’

‘If I never see a dragon glass spear-tip ever again, it’ll still be too soon.’ Gendry chuckled and moved back towards the fire. ‘It can’t hurt to keep a store of dragon glass weapons and... you never know.’

‘We brought a hefty store with us, my lord,’ Davos called from his place amongst ledgers brought in by the maester.

‘Good. Good. Well, Merrell, I won’t keep you from your work. Not yet, anyway.’

This earned him a throaty laugh from the man. If he’d at least won over his blacksmith, he was doing all right.

‘Anyone else to meet today, Maester?’

‘No, my Lord. I have a list of positions you will need to fill soon.’ The Maester handed Gendry a parchment. He stared down at it and saw the lines of ink as nothing more than an incomprehensible mess.

‘Maester Elwyne, I’ll also need you - or someone you suggest - to teach me to read.’

‘Read, my lord?’

‘My master on the Street of Steel taught me some basics, but I’ll need more than that.’

Davos cleared his throat and seemed lost in thought.

‘All right, Davos?’

‘Aye, lad. Just an old man lost in the past. Don’t mind me.’

‘I would be honoured to teach you, my lord.’

‘Right. Now, how are we for food, now and in stores? Do I need to ask the Queen for any supplies?’

‘Not presently, my Lord. If you like fish and hogs, that is.’

‘I’ll eat anything that doesn’t kill me, Maester Elwyne.’

Finally, the maester’s cool demeanour relaxed a little. ‘Glad to hear it, my Lord. I have asked for a bath to be drawn in your chambers. Shall I take you there now?’

Gendry shivered, his clothes still damp. ‘Lead on. See you later, Davos?’

‘Aye, lad.’

The Maester took Gendry up sets and sets of steps until the top of the tower, the whole of which was given over to the Lord’s chambers.

‘This is yours, my Lord. And your lady’s rooms...’ The Maester waved a heavy-sleeved arm at the door opposite.

Gendry cleared his throat to shift the sudden lump that formed there. ‘Not necessary.’

‘Not for now, of course, my lord.’

Today, he reasoned, was not the day to get into that mess. It probably wouldn’t be pleasing for the Maester to learn his Lord had absolutely no intention of marrying anyone.

His own chambers were grander than anything he’d seen in the castle so far. The bed had heavy curtains to keep the cold out, and it looked big enough even for him - even for the likes of Tormund. Like downstairs, a fire roared in the hearth, in front of which a fresh bath steamed, calling to his sore muscles.

‘Lord Renly spent a lot of money here, so you’ll find this the most comfortable part of the castle. Mind you, the damp air means you may need to replace-’

‘I think I’ll be very comfortable. Thank you.’

The Maester hesitated. ‘You look like the King,’ he said. ‘But you remind me more of Renly. He had a good heart.’

Fat, hot tears sprung at the back of Gendry’s eyes at this unexpected remark. It was one thing to be compared to the dissipated old King and fight against it; quite another to think of an uncle he never knew in favourable terms.

‘I didn’t know my father’s kin,’ he said, clearing his throat of a lump once again. ‘But I intend to work hard to be worthy of my name and ancestors... and most of all, I want to be a good lord to the people. I am one of them, after all.’

Maester Elwyne stared at him. It was the longest and most articulate speech Gendry had made since arriving and seemed to have taken the maester by surprise. He bowed low to his Lord.

‘I have every confidence in you, my Lord. Now, the bath will be starting cool.’

‘Ah, yes. Thank you. I’ll... be down to eat later, I suppose?’

‘Someone will come and fetch you.’ The Maester bowed again and left Gendry then, his shoes slapping against the stone steps as he did.

Gendry wasted no time in removing his damp clothes and sliding into the bath. It was still more than warm enough to soothe the long ride, and he felt his mind drift away.

This was home, and it was perfect. Almost.

 

*


	2. Hopes and Dreams and Plans and Schemes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Gendry low-key sets up socialism in Storm's End and plans to take over the Westerosi metalwork trade.
> 
> Better that than thinking about everything that has been lost...

Six moons came and went with full days and restful nights spent recovering from the days. It suited Gendry, who wanted to know as much as he could as quickly as he could, and who wanted to avoid any time spent along with his thoughts.

When that happened, he inevitably returned to every moment of his life spent with Arya Stark and what he might have done differently. He should not have proposed in the way he did - the memory made him want to punch himself - but there was any number of things he could and should have done differently long before that.

After six moons settling into life as the Lord of Storm’s End, though, he found it harder and harder to believe that life could have unfolded in any way other than exactly as it did. Arya was always going to kill the Night King; Arya was always going to say no; he was always going to end up here. Only death itself could have made it any other way.

Storm’s End, although he loved it more every day, came with a significant set of challenges he hadn’t known in King’s Landing, the Riverlands or Winterfell. The weather was brutal in its own right, but the constant, lingering moisture in the air meant soft furnishings and books did not last as long as they ought.

His body wasn’t used to it either, and after avoiding sickness in King’s Landing’s foulness and in the North’s bitter cold, Storm’s End sent him sniffle after cough after cold. It was humbling to sneeze and hack up his lungs in front of these hardy Stormlanders, but after several moons’ turn and vat after vat of soup, he was growing used to it. Maester Elwyne and Roanna the Cook both swore that once accustomed to the place, he’d be right as rain (pun intended).

Storm’s End had been all but abandoned since Stannis and Renly went off to war and didn’t return. They’d taken with them most of the able-bodied men, of whom only a few returned. That the castle still had a small but functioning staff was a testament to the loyalty of these good people - and the lack of other options.

However, it also meant that they had grown used to living without a lord and he found himself treading carefully to avoid giving offence. Roanna, for example, had started work at the castle before Lord Renly was born and held a great affection for her ‘little lord’ even now. When she brought Gendry apple cakes for the first time, with misty eyes and a remark that “her little lord” had loved them, Gendry would’ve choked them down with a smile if they’d tasted of ashes. That they were genuinely delightful helped, but he always tried to remember that he was walking amongst ghosts ancient and recent.

Ser Davos could be relied upon for good counsel and Gendry did indeed rely on him.

‘Don’t you want to go home, Ser Davos?’ he asked one morning. Ledgers lay across the high table as they tried, without full success, to reconcile the figures with the reality of what was in Storm’s End’s coffers.

Davos thought on this, giving it the genuine consideration it deserved. ‘I’m not sure I’ve much of a home to go back to, lad.’

‘I know you lost...’ Gendry paused, trying to find the right words. ‘The Battle of Blackwater took a lot from you. But you have your wife and youngest sons. What I’m trying to say is that you should not stay with me if you wish to be with them.’

‘I am of most use here, my young lord. I’ve been gone from home so long that my youngest sons wouldn’t know me for who I am.’

‘If you’re certain.’

‘I am that, lad. Now, at what point do we assume that these bloody ledgers are more use as firelighter?’

‘It seems that way. Do you think it’s theft?’

‘Nay. Lord Renly wasn’t one for details. Much more like he bought things at whim and didn’t bother making notes. Based on this, he’d have ruined Storm’s End within a decade.’

‘What were my uncles like, Ser Davos?’

‘Lord Renly was a good lad. Kind, for the most part. Had a way of gaining folks’ love. They love him here still.’

‘I know.’

‘As for Stannis... well, I’ve said before that he was a good man pulled away from his purpose. There was a time I’d have followed him into hell...’ Davos flexed his incomplete fingers. ‘And sometimes I think I did.’

Gendry’s fingers clench at the arm of his chair at the memory of the cold stone-faced arsehole he’d met so briefly and what had followed. ‘What was he like?’

‘Hard. Stern. He’d a clear sense of right and wrong - until he didn’t. You’re going to need more coal from somewhere, Targaryen or not, that bloody throne drives people clear mad.’

Fierce anger raged through Gendry’s chest and his ears filled with thumping blood. ‘Especially when there’s a Red Woman whispering poison in your ear.’

Davos sighed and, leaning back in his seat, took a long drink. ‘She did heinous things, that one. The things people will do if they can justify it to themselves.’

‘I can’t believe-’

‘You were a young lad, and she was a stunning woman intent on doing exactly that. I’m not saying you didn’t stand a chance, but you didn’t stand a chance.’

The blood in his ears thinned and circulated away and the tightness in his chest loosened. ‘We won’t get anywhere lingering on the past.’

‘Now, that’s true. What shall we look at next?’

‘We need more iron and steel for the forge.’

‘Good stuff doesn’t come cheap.’

‘No, but I’ve a mind that between Merrell and me we can start making enough to start selling on.’

‘Aye?’

‘My feeling is this,’ Gendry sat forward to ensure he had Davos’ attention. ‘Between us, the stormlands grow and rear just about enough food to feed ourselves. If the harvest is good and the livestock is healthy.’

‘Aye.’

‘But not much more than that. We don’t have more good land, and stripping out too much of the woodlands for timber will only help for a year or two, and then we’re stuck for twenty-five more while trees mature. So we can’t do that. We can’t do much more with fishing because the sea out there is so bloody treacherous.’

‘Your point, lad?’

‘We can’t make much sea trade either, for the same reason, unless there’s some magic to made a dozen copies of you.’

‘I’ll take Ser Beric as an indication that’s a bad idea.’

‘Right. So, what are we left with?’

‘You tell me, my lord.’

‘It’ll take some time, but Storm’s End is going to become the place where everyone gets their best arms. And not just weaponry. Anything that can be made out of metal, people come here for the best.’

Davos smiled a little. ‘Sure you’re not just saying this to get back to your bloody forge?’

‘Of course I am. But it also makes sense. I think. Does it makes sense?’ Gendry’s self-doubt roared back to life, and he bit his lip, waiting for Davos to answer. He respected and liked Seaworth that whatever his answer, Gendry would go with it.

‘I think...’ Davos frowned and his eyes darted around the room as he considered whatever was going through his mind. ‘I think it’s a grand idea, my lord.’

‘Sansa Stark has sent the last of the dragonglass. I’m going to start making things with it. Beautiful things and the occasional weapon. Just in case.’

‘Just in case. And I don’t suppose there’s a lot of beautiful things around.’

‘No. And...’ Gendry paused a moment. ‘Most of the Seven Kingdoms’ finest smiths were on the Street of Steel. The glass and gold and silver and coppersmiths, too. Between me and Merrell, the smith at Highgarden who’s apparently good with jewellery, and the Winterfell lads... we might be all that’s left of any skill or experience. I don’t want to sound cocky, but-’

‘You make sense, Gendry. You make sense. And you get to spend time in your forge.’

‘Exactly. So, we’ll need to lay in some iron and steel. Gold and silver too, if we can get it. And once we’re up and running, we’ll expand the smithy. A third forge would be good. Apprentices, too.’

‘You’ve been thinking a lot about this.’

Gendry shrugged. ‘Not much else to do of an evening.’

‘We’ll soon change that. We’ve had ravens from all over with suggestions of young ladies-’

‘Not now, Davos. I mean... not yet.’

‘Not yet?’

‘Just give he- me some time. It’s enough to learn how to be a lord without learning to be someone’s husband. Worse if I don’t even know her.’

Davos looked very much as though he wanted to speak, but he kept his counsel to himself for now. ‘Right. Well... let’s get some orders done. Yara Greyjoy should be happy to sell to us from her mines on Pyke, and the Dornish copper mines are presumably still running.’

‘And decent ore from Pentos. I mean, I don’t know if that’s where it actually comes from, but Master Mott swore by a shipment he’d get from there. Made for the best swords, he said.’

‘We can find out. Might be that there are deals to be made with the other Free Cities too.’

For the first time in a while, Gendry felt as though things were falling into place, in the right way. And then, he undid that feeling entirely: ‘Did you also ask about the orphans?’

The crease in Davos’ brow deepened. ‘Word is out to the lords that they should record any orphans in their lands and either ward them themselves or send them here. Which I think is a mistake, you know.’

‘I know.’

‘An expensive mistake.’

‘I know. But I’m not having children homeless and starving in the Stormlands while I’m the fucking Lord.’

Davos’ chuckle was throaty and amused. ‘Aye, I suppose not. You know you’ll be getting all manner of hellions and children whose parents live but won’t look after them?’

‘If that’s true, they might as well be orphans.’

‘They’ll sing songs about you for this. All the way to the bottom of the empty coffers.’

‘We can give the older children work to do. Might find some good apprentices out of it. And... someone should teach them all how to read. And learn about... things.’

‘Gods, Gendry, I suppose you’d have them all training up to be lords themselves, eh?’

He just shrugged. ‘If I can, why not any of them? I’d have done anything for education when I was a boy, and Master Mott saw that I had it better than most. I'm not... I'm not much of a Lord as other Lords might want. So I might as well be the Lord I want to be.'

His former-smuggler friend and counselor, who knew better even than Gendry the hardships of life on the bottom rung of the ladder, nodded. 'Can't argue with that.'


	3. Smiths and Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for the awesome comments so far - I really appreciate it.
> 
> I had no particular plan for this when I started, but perhaps I do now... it may even turn out to be the first part of whatever 'Times Change...' is. You can find that here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18979705 and I might even get to update that soon too.
> 
> Either way, I hope you enjoy this latest instalment of Gendry's Adventures in (the) Stormland(s).

Lord Baratheon's orphan decree was as successful as Davos feared. Within a moon's turn, sixty children - from barely-toddling infants to lads near-grown - arrived at Storm's End.

Nine of them were accompanied by a silver-haired old woman with few teeth but many scruples, who seemed determined to prove Davos' worst fears unfounded.

Gendry met them in the Great Hall, feeling a separation between the poorly-clad group and his own fine robes.

'My lord.' The old woman bowed to him as low as her ageing bones would allow. 'I had three sons before the wars began. Now, I have none, and our home is lost. These are my grandchildren, and I beg you - give them what I cannot.'

Gendry's blue eyes ranged across the group. Most of the children were above five name-days, but the old lady had a smaller child wrapped against her chest. The children were quiet and well behaved but looked to their grandmother as if about to lose their own hearts. 'Would you wish to stay with them, my lady?'

The old woman blinked at being gifted with such a label, and yet more for the possibility of staying with her family. 'If the Seven would allow it, I'd not leave a single one of them until each was grown with a home of their own.'

'Would you be willing to help us with all the smaller children here? They need skilled care that we cannot yet give.'

She turned sharp grey eyes upon him. 'My lord, I would do anything to stay in sight of my lambs. They are all I have left.'

'Then, it shall be done.' Gendry smiled at her, then at the children. 'Maester Elwyne will take you to our orphanage. I'm afraid you've a lot of work ahead of you.'

One child burst into tears of what he suspected was relief. The woman's legs sagged a moment, as though she had been strong for much too long, and in the moment of deliverance, she bent. But, she remained upright and proud and bowed to him again.

'Thank you, my lord.'

Gendry watched them leave. At least there was someone to look after the children now. None of the people at Storm's End had much experience with children except their own. It was a point he'd failed to consider - he kicked himself daily for it.

The old woman was followed by a young girl, no more than eleven name-days to her. She had dark hair in a matted mess and wore the kind of simple clothes that spoke of having once been looked after but without money. Her shoes were hardly worthy of such a grand title as that.

She stopped some distance away from him, and although her mouth opened to speak, she managed no words. Gendry and Ser Davos looked at her and saw two other little girls, long since lost to time and terror.

'Speak up, lass.' Davos spoke kindly, but without much patience.

Gendry stood up out of his grand, lordly seat and went to her. For a moment she was terrified as he loomed over her, then he bent down onto his knees.

'I'm Gendry,' he said, with as much gentleness in his gruff voice as he could manage. 'What's your name?'

'C-C-Cella.' She blinked and then remembered her courtesies. 'My... lord.'

'How can I help you, Cella?'

In halting, fractured sentences, the girl explained how her parents had been killed in King's Landing. She had been safe with her great-aunt near Felwood, until her great-aunt died.

'You walked all the way here?' he asked. She nodded. 'That's very brave. That's a dangerous thing to do.'

'When there were people nearby,' she ventured. 'I hid in the bushes. One night, I slept in a tree where nobody could see me!'

'That's very brave, Cella.' He glanced over at Davos, who looked like he was trying very hard to remain composed. 'You're safe now. Would you like to stay here, with the other children?'

She nodded.

'We have a house just for children who've come here just like you. Ser Davos will take you there now if you like.'

Cella looked terrified a moment, but something of the kindness Ser Davos displayed calmed her. He held a hand out to her, which she took.

As he led her out, Davos turned back to Gendry. In a slightly choked manner, he said, 'I'll stay with the children for the midday meal if you have no need for me?'

Gendry waved him away with the faintest of smiles, his own mind lost in memories of a defiant little girl he'd once known. Then, he remembered to ask the Maester to send a raven to Felwood - there was an old woman's body that needed to be dealt with.

Three more petitioners were waiting to see him. He dealt with them swiftly - a cattleman asking for a loan of grain, a farrier looking for work and a scullery maid asking for work on behalf of her younger sister - and then took himself away.

First, Gendry went to the forge in hopes that smashing the shit out of some iron would help still his mind. It did not. He rode out, in hopes that the exercise would cool his thoughts. It did not. He returned to the castle and having left his horse with the stable boy, stalked the corridors of his home.

He had spent many moons arranging his life to avoid thinking about Arya Stark, and one scrawny child had undone the lot and sent his guilt raging back to him.

It was his fault that Arya ended up amongst the faceless men. He ought to have listened and not taken the bloody long road-

He cracked his knuckles against the hard stone wall of his chamber, entirely without meaning to. The pain travelled up his arm and into his shoulder, and he let out a hiss of frustration.

The Lord's chamber was bigger on its own than any entire home he'd ever had before. It was airy during the day and warm at night. It was too big and the featherbed too soft.

He kicked off his boots, cloak and jerkin, and slumped down into the chair by the fire. Gazing into the dancing flames and seeing nothing, he fell into a dreamless sleep.

*

The old woman's name was Merry - and she had been well-named when she was young - and she soon took charge of the chaotic orphans' house. Soon, it was as if she'd always been there, caring for the unwanted, the orphaned and the dislocated children of the Stormlands.

This was a profound relief to Gendry, whose desire to help was far outweighed by his inexperience with children. Soon, the orphanage ran itself, even if it did not pay for itself.

Instead, Gendry looked to other ways of raising revenue that did not include raising taxes. He and Merrell worked to create small trinkets to send to each of the great houses, and many of the lesser ones, demonstrating the craftsmanship of Storm's End. The message was simple and clear: nobody made metalwork like them.

It worked. Whether through his reputation as a smith or as a hero of the Long Night, Gendry began to receive requests and orders. Rather than grow cocky at his success, he reminded himself sternly that there was no Street of Steel and a lack of choice was not the same as choosing him.

Samwell Tarly at Horn Hill wanted some scientific instruments, as well as a comfortable bench for his wife and children (this last felt more like a request out of pity or support than a real need). His liege lord, the uncouth Lord Bronn at Highgarden, ordered a set of grandiose iron gates for a pleasure garden he was building. Gendry did not ask what kind of pleasure would be involved.

Sansa Stark rather more sensibly put in orders for an armoury's worth of new swords to replace what was lost at Winterfell, along with several useful things for the castle itself. He did not envy her the need to rebuild almost her whole home and wondered how she was without her brothers or sister to go through it with. She wrote to him occasionally with words of friendly support, reminding him that they were allies.

King Bran the All-Seeing sent a request for gate panels, but these would not be beautiful and pointless as for Highgarden, but gargantuan gates for the rebuilt walls of King's Landing. Six sets, to be delivered over a year, the specification was such that Gendry was relieved when two old Street of Steel apprentices stumbled into Storm's End one day after walking all the way from the ruins of their former city.

Lord Gendry was summoned to verify the two ragged men and their story. It took him a moment or two to recall them. They were apprenticed to Tobho after his own abrupt departure and had been promising lads when he finally returned. 'Marven? Curtes?'

'Thank the fucking Seven, Gendry!' Marven was a stocky lad on the cusp of adulthood who was still smaller than Gendry and looked in dire need of a wash and a meal.

'Aye lad!' Davos barked. 'Mind your manners with his lordship!'

'Sorry, I... last time I saw you, you'd just struck out on your own on the Street. Lord Gendry-'

'Lord Baratheon, to you,' Davos snapped.

'It's all right,' Gendry interrupted. 'What brings you both here?'

'We thought we might have a chance of work here, with you,' said Marven.

'Doesn't have to be smithing,' Curtes added. 'Just anything. We'll do anything.'

'Were you in the city when it fell?' Davos asked.

'I was,' said Curtes. 'Grim happenings.'

'I'd gone to the Kingswood,' said Marven. 'Didn't want to be there when the fighting started. Curtes found me later, told me what happened.'

'Can you still both smith?'

'Aye, my lord.'

'Then you have work here. First, we'll get you some food. Look like you need it. Then we'll find you somewhere to rest your heads. Won't be much-'

'We've been sleeping 'neath trees for weeks. Anything with a roof is an improvement. We just want to live and work without being fucking burnt alive. Can we do that here?'

Gendry smiled a little at his old friend's blunt manner. 'Perhaps you'd also be interested in helping build some houses?'

'If we get to sleep in them.'

'Of course.'

*

Once the smiths were rested and their blistered feet and exposure-damaged skin treated, they found their places in the ever-busy forge. Merrell was more than happy for skilled extra hands and for once, Gendry felt like he'd done something right.

Days passed, and more refugees made their way to the Stormlands. Some were sent, as their skills suggested, to other Houses and lords who could make the best use of them. As threatened, the smiths were also asked to help build a set of houses in the Storm's End demesne. Gendry himself helped with some of the most demanding work and, as much as the people were perplexed to see their Lord at hard labour alongside his men, it did more to endear him to them than anything else.

The houses were finished just before Gendry's name day: a set of twelve neat little cottages in a lightly wooded area just north of the gates. They were nothing fancy, but they were sturdy enough to handle most any storm. Marven had already found himself a woman to marry, a widow with two children, and Gendry hadn't seen a man prouder than the smith who led his family into their new home.

It wasn't enough, but it was something. The orphanage was already full, and the lords were starting to grumble about the number of itinerant folks flocking to the Stormlands, having heard about the opportunities and kind lord.

'I can't turn them all away!' he bellowed, finally losing his temper three hours into a council meeting. 'What are we to do?'

'They are not our problem, my lord.' Lord Selmy was a kind enough fellow, but he hadn't much patience with things he saw as being not of his concern and he did not see the makeshift camp of displaced people as his problem.

'Whose problem are they, then?' Gendry asked, trying and not really succeeding in being calm.

'Someone else's.'

'That is a less than useful remark.'

'They had to come through someone else's land first.'

'That doesn't follow.'

'That said,' Ser Davos interrupted, eyeing them both with the suspicion of a man expecting a brawl. 'We will write to Lord Bronn and the other Reachlords. They're always in need of people in the fields.'

'And how do they get to the Reach?' asked Selmy.

'We'll write to Bronn and Sam and the others,' Gendry snapped. 'No point worry about details that don't matter yet.'

Selmy stared at him. Gendry rubbed his weary eyes and sighed heavily. 'My apologies, my lord. It's been a long day. Long year.'

'I understand. Perhaps we should stop for now? Let you get writing those notes?'

'Aye. Thank you, Lord Selmy. Will you stay to eat?'

'I've an appointment at the tavern on the road.'

'As you like.'

The other members of the council shuffled out, leaving Davos and Gendry.

'Do you think the Reach will take people?'

'If they can work.'

They wrote their messages and then it was time to put down their quills.

Ser Davos did not yet go, even though all the messages were ready for the Rookery. 'Have you given any more thought to-'

'Go away, Davos.'

'You'll need to-'

'I barely have time to think at the moment. I would serve no lady well by trying to court her now. When things are less chaotic, I will consider it. You have my word.'

'I do?'

'You do. Now, and I say this with all the affection I have for a grumpy old man: fuck off.'

Davos cracked a grin at that and left him to his thoughts.

Left to his thoughts was not where Gendry wanted to be. As much as he was exhausted, he preferred chaos to being able to think.

When he had time to think, he could remember the screams of the undead and the dying; he could remember the feel of dead hands on his skin and the terror that took him over from tip to toe during the Long Night. Or he remembered running for his life to reach the Wall. Or he remembered being hunted by a queen who wanted to spill his blood or being enchanted by a red woman who was after his blood. He remembered days and days of rowing without knowing what was ahead or what he would do, or even where he would get water to drink. He remembered the fucking dragons and their otherworldly shrieking. He remembered... and none of it was good.

He did not like to remember. He did not want to wake in the middle of the night terrified and alone but alone was better than scaring the shit out of someone else. More than once he'd woken having torn a blanket apart or a pillow to a mess of feathers. Davos would assume Gendry was hesitating about a wife because of Arya Stark, but that was not the whole truth.

He was increasingly glad she wasn't here to see him as he was. Broken, running on nothing but nerves and determination to not fail. Not even a determination to succeed, just to not fail.

He knew he was failing. Knew he was losing the goodwill of lords who were tired of him taking on all the troubles of the world. It would change when the gold dragons started rolling in from the many metalwork commissions. It would change when they could see the benefit of plentiful, loyal, happy smallfolk... but in the meantime, he knew he was hanging on by a thread.

Had any Lord Paramount lasted less than a year? He didn't want to be the first. He slept - uneasily, easily disturbed - and continued on.

Just a few days until the first anniversary of his arrival at Storm's End, Gendry received an unexpected visitor.

He had just seen the most recent set of King's Landing gates off on their way to the city, guarded by a full dozen of the King's minor guards. They were so massive that they were being taken to the city in pieces, to be assembled on site by Marven and several of the apprentice lads.

It was a good day. The sun was shining - for now - and the King's men had brought the latest payment in gold, which Gendry handed straight to Davos for safekeeping.

Groups of workers had been leaving the temporary camp between Storm's End and the Kingswood - the latest had just left for Cider Hall and Longtable, with promises from the red-apple Fossoways and Merryweathers to pay a fair wage to the newcomers.

It was a good day and Lord Gendry Baratheon of Storm's End took a moment to feel that the situation was improving. This, he would think later, was his first mistake. He hadn't even left the courtyard before the world turned again.

A lone rider was not unusual, but one who burst past the gates was uncommon. The guards followed and the rider - a tall fellow in a silvery helm - was greeted with spears and nocked arrows.

The mystery fellow pulled off his helm and shook out long black hair. His blue eyes gleamed.

'What a terrible welcome home!' he bellowed, apparently for the benefit of even those in the bay. 'I know it's been a while but-'

'I don't know who you are,' said Gendry, almost grinding his teeth at the man's natural, overfamiliar air. 'But from the look of you, I'd say you're another of King Robert's bastards.'

'One of?' He laughed heartily, still playing to an audience Gendry couldn't discern. 'I am _the_  bastard of His Grace, King Robert Baratheon, First of his Name-'

'Spare me the list,' Gendry cut in. 'Who are you, and what do you want?'

The fellow's pleasant demeanour dropped then. 'I am Edric, son of Robert and I'm here to take back my castle.'

Gendry knew he should not have grasped at hope, no matter how slight. The gods did not favour him when it was much easier to mock.

 

*

 

tbc...


	4. Trial

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all the super comments! This was a bit longer and not quite as I intended, but it is what it is so I hope you enjoy it.

It wasn't entirely a surprise that another son of Robert Baratheon would show up - he knew of at least one other child who'd survived Cersei Lannister's cull. Having another son show up like he owned the place and declare that very thing was quite different.

 

'Aran,' he called calmly, very calmly to one of the young lads helping unload a shipment of ale, although his gaze never left Edric. 'Fetch Ser Davos and Maester Elwyne, would you please?'

 

'You must be Gendry,' Edric said, smirking at a joke he kept to himself. 'Yes, I can see it. You are one of his.'

 

'Indeed. Legitimised and granted-'

 

Edric waved a hand at that. 'By a dead genocidal queen who never so much as sat the Iron Throne.'

 

'And confirmed bythe Stormlords more than a year ago.'

 

'Only because I was not here.'

 

'Aye?' Gendry folded his arms across his chest. 'And where were you, exactly?'

 

'I was sent across the Narrow Sea after Uncle Stannis - yes, I actually knew the taciturn old git - started to use Baratheon blood to make himself king.'

 

Gendry shuddered quite unconsciously and unwillingly,

 

'I see you met the woman.'

 

'Yes.' Gendry felt a sharp stab of jealousy towards this little shit - he was at least shorter than Gendry, though still taller than most - for having missed the worst of it all. 'I met her.'

 

Ser Davos arrived then, hand on his sword hilt. 'Edric Storm. It's actually you.'

 

Edric bowed to Ser Davos - a courtesy he had yet to give Gendry. 'I have come home! Once I heard my beloved Storm's End was overrun by bastards, I had to return.'

 

'You're a bastard too,' Davos reminded him. 'Gendry was legitimised and named Lord of Storm's End.'

 

'By an invalid queen!'

 

'Oh yes, and confirmed in writing by King Brandon. One of his first acts,' Davos snapped. 'While you were tucked up safely wherever you were.'

 

'Pentos.'

 

'Fucking Pentos!' Davos was angrier than Gendry had seen him, and it was unlike his friend to swear in public. 'If you were so close, I wonder why it took you so long to return.'

 

Edric's grin faded a little. 'I... had business to conclude before returning home.'

 

'Oh, business, was it?' Davos scowled, deeply unimpressed by this unexpected turn of events.

 

'What makes you think you've a claim to Storm's End?' Gendry asked, having been mulling it over. It would be close, but Edric certainly seemed younger than he. 'You're not legitimised, I am. I suspect I'm older than you, which gives me precedence there too.'

 

He glanced over at Davos, suddenly uncertain if he'd used "precedence" correctly. Davos nodded.

 

Edric shook his hair out. 'My father recognised me.'

 

'Our father.'

 

'If you need. He recognised me. I grew up here, with Uncle Renly.'

 

'You were fostered by Cortnay Penrose,' Davos interrupted. 'Tell the whole truth if you're telling a tale.'

 

Gendry could not fathom why Davos was so hostile towards the young man.

 

'My mother - unlike yours - was of noble, gentle breeding. Delena Florent was a gentle lady.'

 

'Not so gentle that she didn't lie with your father on Lord Stannis' marriage bed the day he was married to her sister!' Davos returned. 'They dishonoured their families and poisoned the marriage bed that day.'

 

'We will speak of this inside,' said Gendry, summoning his most lordly attitude, although it did not come as easy as he hoped. 'Edric, give your horse to the stablemaster for looking after, then come to us in the feast hall. I take it you know the way.'

 

He did not wait for an answer before turning on his heel and marching inside, Davos close behind.

 

Once in the feast hall, he sank into his chair and listened to Davos rant.

 

'The nerve of that cowardly little shit! Where's he been all this time, eh? What's he done for anyone? Did he fight? Nay, he's been sunning himself in bloody Pentos!'

 

'Calm down, Davos. Why are you so angry - it's not like you.'

 

'I just-' Davos took a breath. 'He hasn't the right to take this from you.'

 

Gendry was taken aback to realise Davos' rage was on his behalf. 'Maybe he does, maybe he doesn't. You won't get anywhere by working yourself into a fit.'

 

'Aye, lad.' Davos forced his anger away. 'I'll pour some ale, shall I? Fresh today.'

 

'Just a little.'

 

He'd barely taken the tankard when Edric came in.

 

'Drinking already, brother? That's what did for our father.'

 

Gendry did not answer that. 'Why do you think you have a greater claim to Storm's End than I do?'

 

'I'm of noble birth! I was raised for this. Father used to send me gifts, and he had me educated! I bet you can barely even read.'

 

'I can read and write, thank you. I might not have had a septon and maester to teach me, but that's not grounds to oust me, Edric. What else?'

 

'Father chose me! He recognised me!'

 

'He did that because Lord Stannis and Lord Florent gave him no choice,' Davos said, almost literally biting into his tongue to keep civil. 'I mean no insult to you lad, but you weren't special to King Robert. He wasn't capable of it.'

 

'And you knew him so well?'

 

'I knew Stannis and Stannis knew the truth of it. It was Varys who arranged for your gifts and your education.'

 

'Just as it was Varys who arranged for mine,' Gendry mused, thinking of the mysterious man who'd taken a grieving child from his makeshift bed behind the tavern and into Tobho Mott's workshop.

 

'I am of noble birth!'

 

'You've said that,' said Gendry. 'What else?'

 

'This was my home. I belong here! I know the people!'

 

'Do you?' Gendry asked, genuinely curious. 'Who is the Maester?'

 

'Jurne!'

 

'He died before the Long Night. Maester Elwyne took over. The castellan?'

 

'Ser Gilbert Farring.'

 

'No, he left to assist Stannis after the war turned against him,' said Davos.

 

Gendry pressed on: 'The cook?'

 

'Laeona!'

 

'She died, I'm afraid. Her daughter Roanna is now the chief cook,' Gendry told him, feeling rather cruel and not liking the feeling. 'I don't doubt you feel this is home, but much has changed since you left. Years ago.'

 

'Because you changed it! I know the stormlords hate you. It's why I came back now, knowing-' Edric stopped as he realised he'd said too much.

 

'Knowing that they'd support your claim over mine?'

 

'Yes.'

 

'Well.' Gendry closed his eyes and took several deep breaths, the better to think. 'It's yours.'

 

'What?' Ser Davos and Edric spoke as one.

 

'I never wanted to be a lord.' Gendry rubbed at his tired eyes. 'Really, I didn't. I wanted to be a smith with my own forge when I was a boy. Then I wanted to be a knight. Then after that, I was just busy trying to stay alive. For years. Then, all I wanted was my- to be happy. And the Dragon Queen gave me a name and Storm's End. I didn't want either of them, but here we are. So... it's yours.'

 

'Well then, I-'

 

'It's yours. If you can prove that you care more about the people than yourself. If you can tell me that you'll dedicate your life to making the Stormlands safe and prosperous for all and if you'll put the greater good above your own.'

 

It was the principle he'd been working by all the time and had never quite put it into words.

 

Beside him, Davos' eyes shone until he blinked. 'Well put, lad.'

 

'Can you pledge that, Edric?'

 

Silence. Edric looked around. At the fire, at the Baratheon banners, at the tables and chairs and the barrel of fresh ale. Anywhere but at Gendry.

 

'If you can't,' Gendry said. 'Then we'll have to come to another arrangement.'

 

'Which is?'

 

A pause. Gendry wasn't stupid, but he wasn't lightning quick like some he knew. He pondered the possibilities, considered what he knew of justice and law in the kingdoms. It was still precious little compared to many educated men, but there was one option he knew of.

 

'A trial of sorts, by the Seven if you like. You and me, fighting for Storm's End.'

 

'FIghting? How crude.'

 

'Not fighting. A trial by combat, properly overseen and witnessed. If you win, I'll go or stay as you command. I'll write to the King and inform him of the change.'

 

'If you win?'

 

'Then all will be as it is right now, except that you may stay as my loyal brother. I need a castellan, and you clearly know your way around.'

 

Edric looked murderous at the thought. 'I accept. When?'

 

'Tomorrow morning,' said Davos.

 

'Your choice of weapon, Gendry added. 'In the meantime, I'll arrange for you to stay tonight and you are a welcome guest at dinner. Nothing big tonight, but there's a hog roasting.'

 

'I can smell it. Laeona used to-'

 

Davos rose up and started towards the doors. 'I'll take you to your room, Edric.'

 

'I'd like my old room back-'

 

'Nice guest chambers we've got now,' Davos said. 'Lord Gendry saw to it. Follow me.'

 

'I'll remember this when I win!' Edric grumbled as Davos led him out.

 

As the doors closed behind them and Gendry was alone, he slumped in his seat. Was he never to have a single day of peace?

 

Did he even want to win the trial? If he was free, he could travel the world. He could sail west...

 

In the meantime, he had work to do. He stood, felt his limbs grow heavy like lead, and made his way back to the yard to continue his tasks for the day.

 

*

 

Everyone in Storm's End knew about the trial within an hour. Ravens began to arrive from lords wishing to attend as witnesses, and Gendry was obliged to move the trial ahead more than a week to give them the chance to do so.

 

It was in his interests for them to see the outcome, whatever it might be. If they were as unhappy and disloyal as Edric said, they needed to see him win and if he lost, they would have the satisfaction of seeing it.

 

In the meantime, Edric was everywhere. He insisted on sitting in on petitions and, although he hadn't yet interrupted or contradicted Gendry, it was apparent he wanted to.

 

He even came and found Gendry when he was in the forge beating seven hells out of a new sword for Lord Manderly.

 

'So, you're still smithing like a commoner, eh?'

 

'Nothing common about his work,' Merrell cut in from his own anvil, a dark glare for the interloper.

 

'Still,' Edric peered around the forge from the door, conspicuously keeping his clean clothes away from the dirt. 'Not Lord's work, is it?'

 

Gendry brought the hammer down with a mighty slam and took some secret pleasure in how Edric flinched. The man was strong and skilled enough based on seeing him in the training yard, but for brute strength and raw power, Gendry was hard to beat.

 

Roanna, who was old enough and lucky enough to have lived to see Robert in his prime, swore up and down that even at his best, he would have struggled to best Gendry.

 

He had purposely kept away from the training yard himself. He didn't want to give away all his secrets - mostly that he didn't have many. He was a fighter and a scrapper, not a highly trained warrior.

 

Suddenly, he thought of Jon Snow and hoped that wherever he was, he had found something akin to peace, if not happiness.

 

'Mertyns arrived today,' Edric told him. 'And Wagstaff. Grandison banners have been sighted, and a raven says Kellington and Whitehead are a day's ride away.'

 

Gendry shoved the blade into the water and let the sound of steam ignore Edric.

 

'Selmy was halfway home but turned, and he'll be here in the morning. The Hasty and Caron parties have made camp. I suppose Fell and Buckler will just ride down-'

 

'Stop naming Houses. I know the lot of them.'

 

'Do you? Really.'

 

Gendry checked the blade before shoving it back in the fire to heat up once more. 'Aye.'

 

'What about the folks with the forked lightning.'

 

'House Dondarrion sent word that they will trust in the outcome of the trial. I rode with Ser Beric, you know. We all owe him a debt, you know.'

 

For the first time in days, Edric looked less than certain. 'Oh, yes?'

 

'He helped Arya Stark on her way to the Night King.' He yanked the blade from the fire, took it to the anvil and sent his hammer down onto it with a great clanging of metal. 'Amongst other things.'

 

'That's just a story, isn't it? The Night King isn't-'

 

'I was there!' shouted one of the soldiers, waiting for an armour repair. 'it's as Lord Gendry says.'

 

'Convenient that you have someone to back you up.'

 

'I was there, lad.' The soldier came over, and in the light, the deep scar across his face was prominent, as was the one on his neck where a wight's uneven blade almost took his head. 'It happened as my lord says. Ask the King, if you like. He was right there, in Winterfell's godswood when she stuck the Night King through the heart.'

 

Edric cleared his throat. 'I also heard tell that Merryweather is coming. Imagine that, our duel getting them coming in even from the Reach.'

 

Gendry allowed the subject to change.'It's meant to be a solemn trial under the Seven, not a fucking tourney.'

 

'It can be both. Well, you're obviously very busy with your lordship duties, so I will leave you alone.' Edric left.

 

'Thank fuck for that,' Gendry muttered, earning a laugh from Merrell and the soldier lad. 'Pol, what are you waiting for?'

 

'Just for some links in my mail to be repaired. Young Curtes has it in hand.'

 

'Good. And how are you?'

 

'I'm well, my lord.'

 

'Nightmares?'

 

'Of course.'

 

'Same. Are yours of Winterfell or King's Landing?'

 

'Both my lord.'

 

'I'm glad you survived.'

 

'Not as glad as I am, my lord.' Pol chuckled. 'Kick that little shit into the dirt, will you? I don't fancy giving him the "my lord" treatment.'

 

'I'll do my best.' Gendry quenched the blade one last time before setting it aside. 'I think I'm done for the day, Merrell.'

 

'Don't let that little bastard put you off.'

 

'No... but I do worry what he's doing when I can't see him.'

 

*

 

The morning of the trial was dry and clear, but not warm. A raven arrived from the King to say that he would agree to Gendry's request and honour the outcome of the duel.

 

Lords from across the Stormlands and beyond had come, along with their various retinues and guests, and Edric was right in one respect: it had more a feeling of a tourney than a solemn trial by combat.

 

Storm's End had hosted tourneys before, but not for many years. It was to this place - now more a flat scrubland overrun with rough plant life - that they went. Storm's End itself loomed large in the near distance as if either of them might forget what it was all about.

 

By the time Maester Elwyne declared the purpose and rules of the trial, a set of heavy iron-grey clouds had formed and were edging towards Storm's End.

 

'Edric Storm,' said Maester Elwyne, 'had the choice of weapons. He has chosen war hammers, in memory of his father, Robert Baratheon, King of the Seven Kingdoms.'

 

Gendry looked down at the ground. The dirt was loose and would be slippery.

 

'The trial will begin at my word and will end when a man yields or is killed,' said the Maester. A septon who had travelled with Lord Merryweather had taken it upon himself to act as the representative of the Seven and nodded his assent with some theatricality.

 

Warhammers were brought out and not for the first time, Gendry mourned the loss of his own beyond the wall. He'd crafted it entirely for his personal use, and no other hammer had yet to live up to it. On the other hand, the dragon glass mace he'd made to with at Winterfell had kept him alive...

 

His mind was wandering. The hammer he was given was good enough: it was well-balanced and weighted, as he would expect from something he made himself. He had not expected Edric to choose hammers and could not fathom why, but here they were.

 

Here they were: in a dirt field surrounded by men that might well be happy to see his blood soak into the dirt before the end of the day.

 

Davos nodded and sent him a grim smile. Merrell and the smiths were gathered together and roared when Gendry's name was spoken.

 

'Lord Gendry Baratheon,' said Maester Elwyne. 'Are you ready?'

 

'Aye.'

 

'Edric Storm, are you ready?

 

'Aye!' He waved the hammer grandly, and Gendry looked closely: it was just a touch too heavy for him to control completely. He was wasting his energy. 'For Storm's End and the good of all the Stormlands!'

 

'In the name of the Seven, in the name of the Father and the Warrior, begin.'

 

Gendry did not move: he would wait for Edric and did not want to hurt or kill a brother. Edric seemed not to mind this, and bore down on him quickly.

 

He batted Edric's hammer away with the handle of his own, sending Edric skittering away a distance.

 

'I do not want to fight you,' said Gendry. 'But my duty is to the people of the Stormlands. I'll ask you again-'

 

He parried another attempted strike. Edric was getting better as he took his half-brother's skills more seriously. His hammer almost caught Gendry in the chest, but he'd grown quicker the more he trained and the hammer's head hit nothing but air.

 

'If you can swear to me that you'll put the people of the Stormlands before your own wants and needs...' Gendry swerved again and knocked Edric aside with his own hammer. 'If you'll swear right now that your duty to these good people - highborn and low - is your greatest concern... then I'll give you the lordship right now. I'll fuck off and you'll never have to see me again.'

 

Edric swung his hammer at Gendry's but he was a few inches shorter and the swing not precise enough. One of Gendry's blows caught Edric's breastplate and he stumbled, winded.

 

'If you can swear to me that you care more about what you can do for the people than what they'll give you... really, I'll go. But if you can't do that... if you're here because you just want to be a fucking lord, then I can't do that.'

 

He leapt back as Edric dove towards him. 'Edric, I don't want to hurt you.'

 

'You're a fool, then! I'll happily hurt you if-'

 

'What experience do you have?' Gendry asked, not even out of breath but feeling sweat begin to prickle at his skin.

 

The air itself grew heavy as the clouds slid through the sky. A few fat dropsof rain hit the dirt.

 

'Did you fight in the Wars after our father died? Did you take up arms in your uncle's name? Either of them? Nay.'

 

Gendry swung now, his fury rising and rising. How dare this boy try and take what he had? He'd had nothing all his life and now this brother of his arrived and tried to use his own childhood of luxury as the reason why what he had should be taken away.

 

'Did you fight to protect the people during those violent times? Did you go north to fight in the Long Night, when the dead almost prevailed? Or at King's Landing? Have you ever fought for your fucking life, Edric?'

 

Swing after swing, Gendry pushed his brother back across the field. Spectators scattered out of the way of his hammer even as they could not take their eyes off the fight.

 

Edric was outmatched, and he knew it now, but he did not give up easily. 'This should have been me!'

 

'But it wasn't! Life is a bastard, just like us. We don't get what we want, Edric! If you want this for honourable reasons... why can't you say the people are your foremost concern?'

 

'Who gives a fuck about the smallfolk?' Edric yelled, swinging wildly. His hammer flew from his grip and he was disarmed. 'Someone throw me a sword! Anyone!'

 

'Is that within the rules of the trial?' Gendry asked. 'You can yield.'

 

'Never!'

 

'I don't want to hurt you,' Gendry told him even as his hammer caught Edric in the arm. 'We can stop.'

 

'No!' Edric fell then and scrambled away. He was too slow and found himself pinned to the ground by Gendry's foot against his chest. The hammer that had nearly taken his head more than once slowed its motions.

 

'Yield.'

 

'No!'

 

'Why do you want the Stormlands? Money? Power? If you want to bleed the smallfolk dry to fill your own coffers, then believe me when I say you will have to kill me first. These are my people, and I swore to protect them.'

 

Gendry raged, a fire hotter than any forge burning in his chest. How dare this boy? He had almost everything, and he had grown up in peace and safety. He had almost certainly never gone without food and knew bowls of brown only as a notorious myth rather than the difference between starvation and survival.

 

'Edric, I've fought rapers, murderers and gold-cloaks. I fought with the Brotherhood, and I fought alongside Jon Snow and Tormund Giantsbane. I fought alongside Ser Beric Dondarrion, Thoros of Myr and Sandor fucking Clegane. I've foughtand survived against the fucking undead. You're not a threat to me. You're a boy who has a fancy for lording because you grew up wearing silk instead of rags and because you don't think I'm worthy of it.'

 

He felt the rage drain as he felt the truth of the words. Edric was no threat to someone who'd spent his entire life fighting one way or another.

 

'You're right. I'm not worthy of it. Everyone here knows it. But fuck you if you think I'll not try every day to become worthy of these people and these ancient lands! Do you yield?'

 

Edric struggled under Gendry's boot but said nothing. Gendry raised the hammer.

 

'I don't want to hurt you, Edric. We are brothers, like it or not. Do you yield?'

 

Nothing.

 

Gendry's arm began to move and the hammer with it, in a trajectory that led to Edric Storm's head.

 

'Yield! I yield!' Edric screamed, gasping for breath as Gendry's foot restricted his lungs.

 

With control he'd hardly knew he had, Gendry stopped the hammer a foot from Edric's head. He moved his foot from his brother's chest.

 

Edric scrambled to his feet as Maester Elwyne called out to all that Lord Gendry was the victor.

 

The cheers surprised Gendry with their volume and force. He looked around, a little dazed. Selmy's grin was fit to split his face as he applauded. He let the hammer fall to the ground as Davos bounded over to him, followed by most of the men of Storms' End and quite a few of its children, who were not meant to be there.

 

'Knew you'd do it, lad.'

 

'You did? I didn't. Why'd he choose hammers?'

 

'Mayhaps a few mentions of your ineptitude with your father's weapon made their way to Edric's ears.'

 

'But I'm- Davos, you cunning old git!'

 

Davos shrugged. 'Just doing my part. Not my fault if he was too busy acting the arse to properly understand his opponent.'

 

*

 

The feast that evening was merry indeed. Even Gendry himself felt a smile tug at his face.

 

Most of the lords appeared to be genuinely glad for his victory, which Lady Mary Mertyns explained succinctly:

 

'I always stood with you, but spending five minutes with that idiot would've been enough to convince me to support you, my lord.'

 

'And at any rate,' said Lord Hasty. 'You've got the smallfolk on your side. Dunno what you did but they adore you.'

 

'I listened to them,' Gendry replied simply. 'And made sure they weren't hungry.'

 

Hasty raised his cup. 'Aye, well... to you, my lord.'

 

Lady Mary stood, cup aloft. 'To Gendry Baratheon, Lord Paramount of the Stormlands!'

 

Gendry's ears rang from the noise of it.

 

'What will happen to Edric now?' the lady asked, back in her seat. 'Whip him for his insolence.'

 

'He's already on his way back to Pentos. Mayhaps he realised it is his home. I've told him he has a welcome here as long as he swears fealty to the Lord of Storm's End. He refused.'

 

'Now,' said Lord Hasty. 'I have a niece-'

 

'In due course, my lord,' Gendry interrupted. 'Let us recover from this mess first.'

 

He wished Arya was here. In part, to see his victory and to tell him what she thought (something tart, no doubt), to see what he had achieved and seven hells, to stop the "I have a niece...' conversations.

 

She was no there. She might never be there. It was not the life he'd wanted, but it was the life he'd fought for. No sailing west for him, and no matter how his mind and heart railed against it, it was the best outcome.

 

The best, but not a wholly good one.

 

*

 


	5. Ser Davos Seaworth, Giantslayer?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all the super comments - I think we've discovered that "four chapters" is the limit before people start demanding to know where Arya is. 
> 
> Like objects in a rearview mirror, she may be closer than she appears. In the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one.

If anyone bothered to ask Ser Davos Seaworth - and really they should - he would've said that he always knew Gendry would make a fine lord. He had a good heart but was also pragmatic and determined.

He hadn't counted on the lad pining for a lass, but he rather admired how Gendry was wounded on the inside but gritted his teeth, squared his shoulders and got on with his life just the same.

That was why he'd been steaming mad when Edric Storm showed up, demanding Storm's End. Gendry wanted a family but got a political rival. It was a crying shame, and the lad didn't deserve it.

Davos knew that Gendry would triumph, but he wasn't opposed to tipping the scales in his favour. It had been so easy to drop a few remarks here and there about how the hammer had been King Robert's favoured weapon, and how it would be poetic for his sons to fight for supremacy that way... and entirely omit Gendry's skill with them, and perhaps imply Gendry was more oafish than warriorlike.

Davos hadn't seen much of Gendry during the Long Night, but he'd seen enough to know he was a warrior. He hadn't lied to Edric, but he'd skimmed the line between truth and lies - like he used to push his luck sailing in dangerous conditions once upon a time.

He looked upon the aborted usurpation as a good thing, all told. Edric's arrogance and self-absorption had been an eye-opener to those sceptical stormlords who realised that Gendry Baratheon was a much better Lord Paramount than their assumptions had allowed them to accept before.

Most of all, they were left alone to get on with the business of making Storm's End what it needed to be. Other than Lady Mertyns, who inexplicably lingered for two weeks, the lords returned home the day after the trial.

A moon or so after the trial, when all had settled back into normalcy, Davos was in the training yard when he was set upon by a vicious horde.

'LORD DAVOS!'

'It's SER Davos, stupid!'

'Don't call me stupid!'

'You are stupid!'

Davos waited patiently while the dozen or so little children swarmed around him. Little Merry Lee, one of the youngest of older Merry's grandchildren, all but climbed up onto him and he settled her onto his back, where she clung tight.

Cella blinked up at him. 'Ser Davos, hide us!'

The others joined in: 'Please hide us!'

He smiled down at them, feeling the sun had grown warmer even behind the cloud. 'Who are you all running from?'

'The GIANT!'

'The giant?'

'The GIANT!' they yelled.

Davos was perplexed for a moment until a vast hulking figure appeared in the shadows of the main gates.

It was Gendry, of course, with two of the other children on each shoulder and a ferocious mummer's glare upon his face.

The children around Davos screamed enough to make his ears ache.

'Is this the fearsome Storm Giant?' Davos asked, hoping he'd picked up on the game at play. The children nodded, eyes wide with imagined terror.

'Aye, well...' Davos reached over the children's head to take a training sword. 'I saw Lyanna Giantsbane take down an undead giant, so I think I know what to do but... can you help? What must I do?'

'STICK THEM WITH THE POINTY END!' they chanted together as they swarmed forward, carrying Davos with them.

He tried to point the sword in such a way that he didn't actually stab his lord, and Gendry very kindly left some space between his arm and torso for Davos to slide the sword into and closed the gap again.

Gendry threw himself into his performance as the mortally wounded giant falling to the ground. 'You've... bested... me... I am the last of... the giants...'

'You got him, Ser Davos! You got him!'

The children Gendry was carrying scurried away when they could leap down, and soon everyone surrounded the dead giant sprawled across the ground.

They cheered as only children could. Gendry waited patiently and then sat up.

'Where'd the giant go?' he asked, to howls of laughter from the children.

Cella and Merry Lee launched themselves at him, sending him back down onto the ground.

'You're the best at being a giant!' Cella squealed.

Gendry stood up then, Cella and Merry Lee still hanging on. 'Right, crew. We'd better get back to help Nanna Merry make our dinner, eh? Thank you, Ser Davos, for felling the terrible giant.'

Davos bowed to them all. 'I will always defend our home, my lord.'

He watched Gendry lead the group back out of the main gate and heard them laughing as they walked down the lane to the orphanage.

It did his old heart good to hear the shrieking, joyful laughter of children, and if he saw Shireen Baratheon in the quirk of Cella's smile, it wasn't as painful as it might have been.

*

Gendry found that no days left him as weary as those he spent mostly with the children. Merry was a good leader and organiser for the orphanage now that she had hearty regular meals and a secure bed. He liked spending time with the children, for he could hardly fall into melancholy around them.

Of course, attending their reading and writing lessons with Maester Elwyne was a way for him to work on his own skills without anyone noticing.

Seventy-nine children had come to Storm's End by the time he had been there for a year and a half. Merry was the only adult who had accompanied them, except the fleeting escorts who dumped children at the gates and were gone before a guard could so much as order them to halt.

He turned no child away.

Forty of them were too young to work; another twenty were of an age to work simple jobs for part of the day; the rest were old enough to apprentice around the castle or to do manual labour in the fields - but Gendry still insisted they be given time during the day for lessons. He'd found a lady teacher to help Merry and Maester Elwyne. Aelinor Hasty was a daughter of a cadet branch of House Hasty and had a sweetness to her that calmed even the most troubled and most angry child.

Between Merry's grandmotherly nature, Maester Elwyne's scholarly dedication and Aelinor's nurturing, almost all of the children became good, diligent students. Nearly all.

Cella was a clever young girl who did not listen to a word anyone said if she thought they were trying to teach her something. She could happily sit on the fence and watch the guards training, but she couldn't sit still for a few minutes to learn her letters.

She was kind-hearted and patient with the smaller children; she loved to tag after the older ones for as long as they would put up with her. She was a good child who drove the grown folks to despair.

Naturally, she reminded him of Arya Stark more than she did not. She had not had the same intensity of heartache, pain and terror as Arya had, but she had already seen her share, and he saw how it sometimes haunted her, leaving shadows behind her young eyes.

On one particular morning, he found her watching the soldiers training rather than in the schoolroom with Aelinor.

'Good morrow, Cella.' As he had done with Arya, he never approached her from behind. 'No lessons?'

She didn't look away from the sparring. 'Didn't want to.'

'You don't want to learn to read and write, and do sums?'

'Why?'

'Why? So that you can read and write letters and stories, and so you can count and not be taken advantage of by unscrupulous traders.'

'I can do sums.'

'You can?'

'Aunt Lyanelle taught me. Before.'

'Ah. Well, I'm sure there's more to learn. I'd have liked to have a teacher when I was your age. I was an apprentice instead. My master taught me some letters and sums... but only enough to do my work.'

'It's boring. I want to fight like soldiers.'

'I don't think-'

'Just because I'm a girl doesn't mean-'

'Hey, now! I wasn't going to say anything about your being a girl, just at your being very young.'

Cella had no fear of Gendry for his size or his title and so stuck her tongue out at him. He probably ought not to have laughed out loud, but he did.

The sparring soldiers paused to see him stood there, and bowed, which he waved away.

Lyonel Whitebeard, who was determined to be knighted before his twentieth name day, approached. 'My lord!'

'Lyonel, how are you?'

'Well, my lord. I see we have an audience again!' He bowed particularly to Cella, who at once bristled and blushed.

'Indeed, I was just trying to convince Cella of the importance of her lessons. Even to aspiring knights.'

Lyonel took the hint immediately. 'Ah, lessons are entirely necessary for a knight. Can't be a knight without your letters and numbers!'

Cella's attitude changed instantly. 'Really?'

'Really, my lady. I never knew a knight who couldn't read or do sums.'

Gendry could think of several knights whose abilities in that regard were limited, but he supposed it was not an outright lie.

'Really.' He could almost see the way Cella's mind was working. 'Lord Gendry?'

'Yes, little knightling?'

'I've got to- May I be excused?' She'd remembered some of her lessons, at least.

Gendry reached out to ruffle her hair. 'Course you can.'

Cella leapt off the fence and ran in the direction of the orphanage.

'Thank you, Lyonel.'

'I hadn't thought she was missing lessons, my lord. I would have sent her back immediately-'

'You can't make that child do anything she doesn't want to, and you have to convince her that the thing you want her to do is her idea.'

'You know her well, my lord?'

'I knew someone a lot like her. A long time ago.'

Lyonel opened his mouth - Gendry could see the first syllable of "Arya' forming there before a change of heart. 'Aye, my lord. Would you like to spar with me? Or one of the lads? We could do with a challenge.'

'That's a better offer than I've had for my time so far today.' Gendry shrugged out of his jacket and draped it over the fence, then rolled up his sleeves.

He sparred against four of the young men in training, alternating between sword and hammer as he did. His blood was up, and a familiar fury rose up in him, controlled by the nature of the fight but not entirely tamed.

By the time they all begged to yield, he was sweating and breathing heavily, but he was victorious.

'Well fought, lads-' he stopped at sight of Davos, grim and ashen-faced on the steps into the keep, clutching a raven note. 'Carry on without me.'

He bounded up the steps three at a time to reach his friend as soon as he could. 'What's happened?'

'Ser Brienne sent a message from Tarth.'

'Is she well?'

'Didn't say. She did say that a ship was spotted on the far side of the island.'

'A ship?'

'A ship with a direwolf on its sails.'

It was like someone punched all the air out of his lungs. 'A direwolf? For certain?'

'Brienne doesn't lie, she doesn't exaggerate and she wouldn't send you a raven if she wasn't bloody sure.'

'Aye. Well, I mean... doesn't mean she's - it's - sailing here.'

'No. She- it would have to make port further along the bay in any case.'

'Why not north?' he mumbled, far more to himself than Davos, who pretended not to hear. Gendry shook his head. 'Keep a watch, let me know if any ships appear on the horizon... and let's make sure there's a guest room made ready. A few, perhaps, for any Stark and their people.'

'Of course, my lord.'

'And Davos?'

'Yes?'

'Tell me if I'm acting like a stupid bastard.'

'Oh, have no fear of that, lad. I'll definitely tell you.'

'So far?'

'Well, you haven't hit anything yet.'

'It's a start.'

'Aye. Now, whatever you do, don't run up to the top of the tower to stare out at the sea for hours.'

Gendry blinked. 'Hadn't even thought of it.'

'Aye, I'll believe you. Thousands wouldn't.'

'It might not even be that ship. Might be someone sent from the North.'

'Queen Sansa would've sent word.'

'Perhaps the raven got lost.'

'Northern ravens don't get lost. Ravens don't get lost.'

Gendry was silent then. There were all kinds of wholly plausible reasons for a Stark ship to be sailing towards him. Mayhaps it wasn't sailing for Storm's End but for somewhere else. Sunspear, perhaps.

'I believe she's here only when I can see her with my own two bloody eyes. Until then... let us be ready but otherwise concerned with our own... concerns.'

'Yes, my lord.' Davos was all but openly laughing at him. 'May I be excused to get started on all this?'

'Of course. Thank you.'

As soon as Davos was out of sight, Gendry ran up the stairs to the very top of the drum tower and, settled in an armchair in his chamber, he stared out into the cold grey until he found the point where the sky met the sea.

He could wait. He was good at that.

 

*


	6. Swords Made of Dragonglass

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the awesome comments and thanks for your patience while I update (although to be honest, anyone reading Dragon Roar, Wolf Howl or Small Moments of Great Import knows that this is actually super-quick for me).

In the days following Brienne's raven, there were two Gendrys. The first, the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands, dedicated himself to his duties. He heard petitions, made decisions and replied diligently to messages from his lords and tenants. As far as anyone was concerned, nothing untoward was going on.

The second was a man with just one name, given to him by a woman whose own name had been forgotten to time and death, and no bright future. This man had only one thought, and it rolled around his head until he wanted to crush his own skull to make it stop: _where is that ship going and is_ she _on it?_

For six days and nights, Gendry existed with one eye looking out at the bay and his attention out on the roiling waters. He knew that no ship was getting close to the rough seas and sharp rocks beneath the keep, but he hoped to see something - as if knowing or having time to prepare would make the smallest difference.

In the event, it fell to Ser Davos - of course - to find him during morning petitions with the news that a ship had docked in the nearest possible harbour - a deep harbour fishing village between Storm's End and Griffin's Roost - and even after six days and nights spent waiting, it still felt like a surprise.

Split in two his attention might be, he was not able to do the same with his physical form. Nobody would outwardly object to his sudden departure from the room. Nobody would question it, but the idea of rushing out and down to the village on the hope of a possibility that the ship might have had someone familiar on board was not one that sat well in his chest.

'Shall I ask the stables to ready your horse, my lord?' Davos asked, glancing at Gendry and the petitioners in turn.

'I'm busy here,' Lord Baratheon replied, though Gendry's heart _ached_. 'But... do tell me if more news comes.'

'Aye, my lord.'

Time slowed down even more than it usually did during petitions. Gendry tried not to calculate how long a journey on horseback would take, and whether to include cargo unloading times. He tried not to count how long it had been since he had last seen Arya Stark.

There were several farm boundary disputes; several arguments about births, deaths and marriages; an old man wanted permission to retire to his daughter's house in the Reach and hand his tenancy to his grandson; three envoys brought suggestions of marriage between Lord Baratheon and daughters of their respective lords. Six farmers came bearing reasons why they could not pay their quarterly rent in full: four had actual extenuating circumstances, and the other two went on his mind's private list of people to keep an eye on.

The people had grown used to their lord allowing morning petitions to run later into the day when necessary, and so it was with disappointment that those still waiting watched him stand, thank everyone for their time and to tell anyone still waiting to come back tomorrow.

In Gendry's head, there was no chance he was sitting still for a moment longer than absolutely necessary. Yet, as he hit crisp, fresh air outside, he faltered.

What was he supposed to do? Mount his horse and storm down to the village? Wait and see?

He spied one of the older orphan lads washing down the yard. 'Augeon! Have you seen Ser Davos?'

The lad blinked a moment. 'Aye, my lord. He rode down to Deepharbour.'

'Ah.' Lord Baratheon paused - Lords do not _hesitate_ , after all - and sighed. 'If anyone wants me, I'll be in the smithy.'

'Yes, my lord.'

The forge was hot and stinking as ever, but in such strange times like these, the familiar, controllable nature of heat and metal were a great comfort.

Merrell rarely bothered Gendry when he appeared and shrugged on a leather apron. This was not an exception, except to discuss a couple of orders.

'House Ashford's ceremonial swords are due in two moons,' Merrell said. 'But nobody here works dragonglass even half as well as you, my lord.'

'It's just repetition,' Gendry replied. 'Try making thousands of weapons out of it in days and weeks and see how you get on.'

'Aye, my lord. But if you have a fancy to work on owt... that'd be right useful.'

'Of course. Got the notes?'

Merrell handed Gendry a small sheaf of parchments. This was the kind of reading that had been Gendry's bread and butter for most of his life: short words, exact meanings and no ambiguity. He grinned, then scowled.

'Does Lord Ashford think having a couple of swords on his wall will make folks think he had even the slightest thing to do with the Long Night?' Gendry grumbled. 'Or is he expecting an invasion of white walkers?'

'These high and mighty folks do some strange things- begging your pardon, my lord.'

'You know me better than that,' Gendry said. He'd put his leather apron on already but just in time remembered to take off his fine jacket and hang it up. He rolled up his shirt sleeves and began to gather the various tools and materials needed to forge a dragonglass sword or two.

Time passed easily when he was in the smithy. After the preparations for the Long Night - and then the work he'd done to repair weapons for Jon Snow and his armies before they marched south - nothing could seem like too much work.

As always, the fires, metal and exertion worked a kind of magic on Gendry. He had been brought up by Tobho Mott to appreciate and respect hard work, to value it as a balm for the soul and to value a job well done.

Perfection, Tobho had said many times, was only for the gods, but it was a smith's job to reach for it anyway. A customer might give them a commission, but a smith owed the work itself his devotion.

Tobho Mott hadn't followed the Seven or the Old Gods or gods of the Rhoynar. His was the god of hard work and the weapons and tools he made were his tokens of devotion. Gendry had taken that to heart more even than the actual instructions of how to work metal.

Dragonglass was an absolute pain in the arse to work well, and the exercise really was one in unnecessary frippery but, for as long as he had a commission, he worked as well and as hard as he would for anything.

Except for the Long Night. He'd never be so frantic and desperate with a hammer ever again. Even now, he sometimes felt he'd let himself down by sending out work he knew was not his best, but if ever there was a time that volume mattered over quality, that was it.

Arya Stark's staff had been the exception. He'd thrown every scrap of skill into that. If he'd ever thought he was less than a master blacksmith before that, it proved him wrong. It was a masterful piece of work... and it still ended up broken on the smashed ramparts of Winterfell. He'd found it quite by chance during the clean-up. It now sat in a trunk in the Lord of Storm's End's quarters, waiting for him to find an excuse to either mend it make a new one with steel instead of dragonglass.

It would be more useful than a fucking ceremonial dragonglass sword for Lord Bloody Ashford - especially if she were on her way from Deepharbour to Storm's End at that very moment. But, he would finish one thing before moving onto the next: another of Tobho Mott's lessons.

Do your best work, do it well, finish the job. Then - and only then - do you move onto the next job.

Sweat trickled down his back as he worked, and as the air outside grew heavy and humid in preparation for whatever storm was coming along.

Finally, as the sun was starting to sink in the sky, he was about as done with the sword as he would be. Merrell or one of his apprentices could complete the hilt and finish the piece - his work on the glass was done.

Gendry stooped to sluice water on his arms and face and grabbed a nearby clean(ish) cloth to dry himself. Turning as he did, he was both stunned and totally unsurprised to find Arya Stark sat on a bench, silently observing him.

After everything and after all the time that had passed, this was how they were reunited. It made, Gendry supposed with a barely contained eye-roll, perfect sense.

'One day,' he said, 'someone is going to fit a fucking bell around your neck so you can't sneak up on them.'

'Perhaps. Do you know anyone who can fashion things from metal?'

'Don't tempt me.' It was, of course, a remark with several potential meanings and, from the look on Arya's brown face, they all occurred to her at one.

Her gaze flickered over him from top to bottom and back again. 'You look well.'

'So do you,' he returned and, as he thought on it, he actually meant it.

She'd gained a golden hue to her skin, presumably from being outdoors most of the time, and although her outward appearance was mostly the same as last they'd met, the clouded agony in her expression was gone.

Indeed, Arya looked upon him with such an open grin that he was taken back to times in the Riverlands. He couldn't say they'd been happy then, of course, but it was a time before horror had wholly overcome them.

'Davos came to fetch you up, then?' he asked, fussing with Ashford's sword again to have something to do with his hands.

'He was very welcoming. Apparently, there's a room prepared for me.'

'Aye.'

'What's the dragonglass for? Did I miss something while I was gone?'

'Some lord who never got within a thousand miles of the undead wanted- I dunno what he wanted, but it's coin for Storm's End.'

'You're a good lord.'

'You've only been here two minutes.'

'I listened to Davos and your men talking on the ride up. They like you. Davos told me about the orphanage and the children. I knew you'd be a wonderful lord.'

'Mayhaps, m'lady.'

'You are. I can tell.'

'Did you learn mind reading on your travels, then?'

'No, but... I can tell.' She looked away then, down at her hands, at her feet, at a point somewhere behind his head.

He put the sword back and clasped his hands behind his back then. 'I'll show you around. If you want.'

'That sounds... nice.'

*

"Nice" actually meant "faintly excruciating". It was one thing to wish Arya close by and quite another to experience the reality of it.

How could another person be absolutely familiar and like a stranger all at once?

Arya listened intently as he led her around the castle, pointing out features he thought might be interesting to her, but she asked few questions and made fewer comments.

It took him a while to realise: she was trying to be like one of those ladies brought up to be seen and not heard, to be serene and pleasant.

'What do you think of it?' he asked when they reached a walkway where they could see into the training yard to one side and the stable yard to the other.

'It's... imposing.'

'Aye. Built to withstand storms more than to charm,' he said, remembering what one young lady or another had said. He hadn't known then whether she meant to be critical or complimentary, but he thought it was a good thing for a castle built on a cliff.

'My ancestor built it, you know,' she said. 'Bran the Builder.'

'For Durran Godsgrief. I've read the legends.'

'You have?'

'I can read.'

She blinked. 'I know. I meant... I didn't think you'd bother with histories and the like.'

'I wanted to understand my home and... my house.' The words still caught in his throat. 'I... Y' see, I feel like I'm the Lord of Storm's End because that's what I do all day. But, I can't feel like part of a House whose members I've never met. Some of the folk here swear I'm the living image of my uncle Renly; others say I'm just like my father - at least in looks - but I don't feel it. I know my grandparents' names, but they might as well be figures from the histories for all I've a real connection to them.'

'I'm sorry.'

'What for?'

'That sounds horrible. There were times when I thought my entire family had been killed, but at least I knew them. I've got thousands of years of Stark ancestors. Tullys too, I suppose. Sometimes when I was very little, Septa Mordane would make it seem like everything I did or thought or felt was letting them down. But at least I had them.'

Arya reached out then. For the first time in years, she touched him. For a long, awkward moment, Gendry just looked down at their twined hands and felt warmth spread from his fingers, up to his wrist and all the way into his shoulder.

'Arya-'

'I thought you might have found a wife to start a family with. At least then you'd have Baratheons around you.'

He dropped her hand, shrugged and turned to lead her along the walkway and back into the drum tower. He said nothing until they were climbing the stairs, and she was too busy walking to respond.

'Haven't found anyone worth marrying.'

No amount of stair-climbing could stop her, of course: 'How hard have you looked?'

'Not very. Had more important things to be getting on with.'

'Was it because of me?'

He was a little out of breath from the climb, mostly because he was stomping quicker than usual, and huffed a small chuckle. 'Cocky little shit. Like I don't have bigger issues like starvation and orphans and a castle that was without a lord for years. I was busy, Arya!'

'Busy with usurpers, too?'

'That too. Davos told you?'

'He mentioned it. In detail.'

'Did he tell you his part?'

'With some glee, yes. I thought... I think I nearly met Edric Storm, you know. In Pentos.'

'Oh, aye?' he tried very hard to sound disinterested but inevitably failed.

'I was in the harbour, getting ready to sail onwards, and I thought I saw you. I was so sure, but then I was certain my mind was making up things, for nobody really looks much like you. I think it must have been him.'

'When was this?'

'Some moons ago. Not sure.'

'He went back there as soon as we were done. He was only interested in this place if it was easy. It's anything but bloody easy. Now...'

Gendry pushed open a heavy door, and a harsh, cold wind buffeted their faces. 'Hold onto the railing. It's a lot windier than it seems and you're only a scrap of a thing. I'd hate to see you carried off as soon as you got here.'

The door led out onto the battlements at the very top of the tower. The winds were so fierce that he was relieved to see Arya actually take his advice to hold on tight.

The view was quite lovely. Without intent, he'd brought Arya up in time for the final setting of the sun. As the sun set in the west, looking east across the sea, glittering shadows danced in time with the swift-moving clouds in the sky above.

'You should see the sunrise,' he said, leaning close so she would hear him above the wind.

'I'd like that.'

'For now,' Gendry moved back towards the door. 'I suppose you'd like some time to yourself before we eat?'

'Oh, yes. Indeed.'

Once inside, with the door closed, the silence seemed all-encompassing.

He cleared his throat to force his voice back to life. 'I'll show you to your room. T'isn't far,'

'Thank you.'

In fact, six days earlier, Gendry had agreed with Davos to put Arya in the room directly below his own. There was no exact reason given, but it was the nicest room in the keep, aside from his own, and if it allowed a certain amount of privacy should she feel the need to wander upstairs, nobody spoke of it.

Arya raised an eyebrow. 'Convenient.'

He shrugged. 'Nicest room I can offer you.'

She paused at just the moment she was about to disappear from sight. 'You haven't asked me where I've been.'

A sincere shrug this time. 'You'll tell me if you want to.'

'You don't want to know?'

'Course I want to know.' He grinned. 'But I'd sooner hit myself in the face with my own hammer than make you do something you don't want to do. I might learn slow, m'lady, but I do learn.'

She cracked a grin of her own at that. 'I'll see you downstairs, then.'

'Aye.'

She closed the door behind her then. Gendry stared at the thick wood and the neat rows of iron studs.

It was almost too much: Arya was actually in Storm's End, in the room below his own. It had only taken, what, two years? That seemed too good to be true.

He wouldn't believe it for sure until he saw her again. Dinner wasn't such a long time to wait, considering everything, and yet the minutes stretched ahead like the wait before a battle.

Mind you, the last time he'd had to wait before a battle, Arya herself had been the one to help him pass the time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... that happened?


	7. Feasting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick bit of filler, but enjoyable filler, I hope!

 

As Edric Storm had learnt to his dismay, the evening meal at Storm's End was usually a simple enough endeavour in which the various folk of the castle came in and out of the Round Hall to eat hearty, modest fare. There was no particular ceremony to proceedings and many an evening found Lord Gendry sat at one of the ordinary tables so that he could sup and talk to people - or rather, listen - with friendly informality.

This was to have been such a night, but as soon as Roanna and her kitchen staff learnt that Arya Stark was a guest, they had done everything they could to provide a feast worthy of the Nightslayer. The Lord's Table was moved into its proper place, and the very best bowls and tankards were freshly cleaned and polished.

While there was not enough time to roast a whole pig, Roanna roasted several large ham joints, and her serving girls rushed to make more pies to bake. There were fish pies and pork pies; apple pies and blackberry pies. They made honeycakes too rushed to look pretty but sweet enough to delight just the same.

There was ale enough for all, but not enough for excessive drunkenness to result - there was no great Stormlands brewing industry, and Lord Baratheon misliked how expensive it was to acquire decent beer on an everyday basis.

Amidst the rush, the people of Storm's End were keen to see Arya Stark for themselves, so the Round Hall was unusually full when Gendry arrived. Arya was not there yet, and he had stopped himself from knocking on her chamber door on the way downstairs. She would, he forced himself to remember, arrive in her own good time.

He took his own seat - which he reminded himself was no mere chair but the throne of the old Storm Kings - and thanked the serving girl who immediately filled his cup with ale. He sipped slowly, watching his people with fond curiosity until the doors opened to admit Arya Stark, Nightslayer and Wandering Wolf of the West. Silence fell as she was led to the seat beside Gendry.

'You look... good.' It was an awkward thing to say, but at least had the benefit of being a throwback to a previous reunion.

Arya's only reply was a raised eyebrow. She took a slow drink from her cup, and her gaze drifted from him to the gathering at large.

Close by, Davos caught Gendry's eye. Ah. He was meant to address everyone. He stood, cleared his throat and held up a hand.

Everyone fell silent within a short moment. Gendry was not used to that kind of power over folks and hoped he would never be.

'Good people of Storm's End!' he paused to let them cheer. 'We're most fortunate this night to welcome Arya Stark to our hall. She's the reason any of us are even still alive, so I dunno what we can do as a worthy gesture of our gratitude. Still... you are most welcome here at Storm's End, and- ever will be.'

It was a poor sort of speech, but Gendry couldn't bear to say another word and dropped back into his seat. The Stormlanders cheered and raised their mugs, cups and tankards as they chanted "ARYA STARK!" several times.

She looked a little red and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Once they were quiet again, she raised her own cup in return, and that was that. The impromptu feast resumed in good cheer.

Gendry could chat and joke around when he was comfortable, but this was no such instance and, as Arya seemed happy enough to remain quiet as she worked her way through a plateful of Roanna's best cooking, he followed suit.

Finally, she spoke. 'They seem to like you a lot, Gendry.'

'Dunno why.'

'I do.'

'Aye?'

'You're... kind.'

'I'm not kind.'

'Course you are. You might also be a grumpy, angry arsehole but you are kind. The smallfolk aren't idiots. They know when a lord gives a shit and when he doesn't.'

'And of the two of us, you're the expert in the smallfolk?'

To her credit, Arya reddened a little. 'You know what I mean.'

'Aye, milady.'

She rolled her eyes at that one. 'Do you like it? Being a lord?'

'I like it better than starving in hedgerows or sleeping above a forge. I like it better than wearing someone else's worn out boots. Who wouldn't like living in a castle with all the food and fine clothes they could ever need?'

'But the actual business, I mean. My father used to spend most of his time settling quarrels between his lords, or his farmers, or his staff.'

'Aye, well. I think I do all right.'

'That's not what I'm asking.'

'What are you asking, then?'

'Are you happy here?'

'Aye. Storm's End is the truest home I've known. Other than- it's the only home I've ever really had. And I think it the finest place a man like me could find himself.'

'You were always meant for this place.'

'Mayhaps.'

'I used to feel that way about Winterfell. Now there's nothing but ghosts and nightmares there.'

'It won't always be like that.'

'Yes, it will.' She gripped her cup. 'I'm never going back there again.'

They were quiet then, and Arya touched her neck a moment.

'I always thought I was meant for the cold and the snow of winter. But ever since- ever since I felt the real cold, true nothing, I've wanted nothing but to be warm.'

'Did you find that in the west?' he asked cautiously, wondering how much she meant metaphorically.

'Yes, sometimes.'

'Well. I hope you'll be... warm here. If you need your fire stoking, you only have to-'

Arya choked on her food. He slapped her back, hard and waited as she took a drink of ale, then a deep breath.

'I didn't mean that,' he said, realising the cause of her choking was an inadvertent double entendre. 'I just want you to be fucking warm.'

'I know. That's why it was so funny.' She glanced over at Davos, who was now trying very hard not to laugh.

'Well.' Gendry paused, wondering if he had guts enough. 'I've kept you warm once before, so I suppose I could-'

'Three times.'

Another pause, then they burst into shared laughter of the kind that made others turn to look. Davos rolled his eyes and made excuses to go elsewhere.

'I can keep you warm,' he said, quietly now, 'if you want me to. Or I can just order the fire in your chamber kept going. I really... it's your choice.'

Arya nodded slowly as she stared at the candlelight reflected in the hall windows. 'I... I'm not sure what- I don't even know why I'm here.'

'You don't?'

'No. I'll... tell you all about it. Tomorrow.'

'Tomorrow,' he echoed. 'You don't have-'

'I want to. But for now, I'm very tired.'

'Of course. Sleep well.'

Arya rose up from her seat and slipped out of the hall without anyone else noticing. How she did it, Gendry could not fathom.

He had absolutely no idea what tomorrow would bring, but he could not feel that it would be bad.


	8. Sea Monsters & Storms

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't mean for this to unfold as it did... but it did.
> 
> I'm not sure if this is a chapter where nothing happens or everything happens. You decide.

By all measures, the night that followed was not the easiest of Gendry's life. The air was heavy - there would be morning storms, he guessed - and having Arya so close by after so long did leave his mind roiling.

He read until his eyes ached. The candle had burned down low, but he still felt unequal to the task of finding sleep.

Most of his energy was taken up with reeling his heart back to his body, with forcing himself not to daydream about happy endings that he was not going to get. It was painfully easy to picture children that looked like him but who moved, spoke and fought with the determined confidence of their mother. Imagining a future where he woke up beside Arya Stark every morning until they were old and grey was as effortless as breathing.

He fell into the kind of restless half-sleep that reminded him of days on the road when he was never safe enough to rest truly, the sort of slumber that leaves a person disorientated, confused and more tired than before.

Gendry finally gave up on even trying to sleep as the sun began to send shimmering rays across the rolling sea. Throwing on some rough clothes, he stumbled down the stairs and out to the forge. Merrell's newest apprentice was already there setting the fires and startled at sight of his lord taking up most of the doorway.

'As you were, lad,' Gendry said. 'I've just come to carry on with the second of Ashford's dragon glass swords.'

'Fires aren't quite hot enough yet, m'lord. My apologies, but-'

'You haven't an apology to give. I'm here early. And I've been in your shoes. I understand.'

The lad visibly relaxed, then startled again when Gendry delved into the nearest crate to pull out some coals for him.

'M'lord, you mustn't-'

'Course I can.'

For some time, he helped the lad - Dafyd - get the fires roaring. By the time they were done, Dafyd was much more relaxed, and Gendry's hands were covered in soot.

'What does it matter?' he reassured the boy. 'I'm going to get dirty anyway. Nothing that won't wash off. Eventually.'

'Merrell won't like that I didn't do-'

'He'll understand. Everyone's allowed a bit of help sometimes. Accept the help.'

'Thank you, milord.'

'Did you come in with Merry?'

'Yes, m'lord. I'm her second eldest grandson.'

'You like it here?'

'Yes! I'm glad we stayed together. Me and my brother Afyn thought we'd have to leave the rest behind to find work.'

'Afyn's one of the farmhands?'

'Aye, milord. He likes the outdoors. I like being warm and dry.'

'Me too.' He shivered, thinking unwillingly of the Long Night. He grabbed the dragon glass to continue working it.

'What... what was it like, milord?'

'Fucking horrible.'

'I wish I could've been there to help.'

'I don't. I'm glad you were far, far away.' His tone was sharper than he intended, and Dafyd did not speak again for some time.

'M'lord?'

'Aye?' Gendry brought his hammer down on the blade.

'What's the difference between the glass and steel?'

'Dragonglass is a pain in the arse. Hardly takes to tempering and getting a blade sharp enough is almost impossible without it shattering. Mind you, you can recast it over and over again, so at least when you fuck up, you can start all over again.'

'May I watch you, milord? I'd like to know how...'

'What for? The undead are gone.'

'As far as we know.' Dafyd blinked. 'Can't hurt to learn anyway.'

'You're right. Come stand this side so you can watch it properly.'

Gendry and Dafyd continued well into the morning, paying little attention to the other smiths arriving and working. Once the blade was finished, Gendry handed it over to Dafyd to finish.

'Has he been bothering you, milord?' Merrell asked - quietly so none of the apprentices would hear if a scolding were imminent. 'I can-'

'Not bothering at all. He was interested. Seems keen.'

'He is, milord.'

'Good.' Gendry bent to wash the grime from his hands and arms. 'I'll leave you to check his work on the hilt and get them delivered to Ashford.'

'Consider it done, milord.'

'Right. Much as I'd like to stay here all day, there are probably things I should be doing.'

There wasn't actually much to be done, in truth. Petitions were held off until the next day in deference to the enormous storm rolling towards Storm's End across the sea: a large, dark mass of cloud that threatened slowly, as if with malice.

Without much to do and pretending like he wasn't seeking out Arya at every moment, Gendry meandered around the castle greeting folks on his rounds. He killed some time by confirming with his people that storm preparations were well in hand (it was Storm's End - they were always prepared) before traipsing through the gates and taking himself to the orphanage.

He was not expecting to see Arya in the orphanage yard surrounded by adoring children, but he was not surprised by it either. Some of the older lads were taller than she was, but they were kept in rapt attention as she told them a story.

'...and then, out of nowhere,' she told them with a broad wave of her arms, 'the monster rose out of the sea and looked me right in the eye, just like I'm doing with you now.'

Arya leaned in to stare one of the boys in the eye. Everyone else giggled as he squirmed away. Gendry remained out of sight, not wanting to distract from the story.

'What then? What then?'

'Then, I drew my sword...' here, she mimicked the action rather than actually drawing steel on children, '... and pointed it at the grotesque monster. It looked at me again, then thrust its head towards the ship.'

The children gasped as one.

'We couldn't turn quickly enough, and the monster crashed into the side of the ship. Water poured into the hole, and we began to sink. But!' Arya turned on her heel. 'The sea monster forgot one very important thing... it was now close enough for us to attack. Now, this monster was like an enormous snake with skin thicker and tougher than armour. So what do you think we did?

The children thought about this. Gendry watched as Cella thrust her hand in the air.

'Yes?' Arya asked, genuinely interested in hearing what the girl had to say.

'Stab it in the eye!'

'That's right! I couldn't do it alone. Half the crew threw ropes around the monster's head to try and keep it still and then the first mate, and I tried to get to its eyes. And at last... we did!'

A collective heave of relief.

'What about the ship?' asked one of the little ones, still very concerned about the outcome, even though Arya was stood right in front of her.

'Well, once we pushed the dead monster back into the sea, we had to find a way to keep the ship afloat. We couldn't fix the hole because it was too big. So, everyone in the crew got buckets and pails and whatever we could find to bail out as much water as we could. We had to keep going day and night and day and night until finally, we reached land.'

'Where were you?'

Arya grinned. 'Oh, a mysterious land indeed. Far, far from here. The sand there was purple if you will believe it, thick and hard underfoot. We pulled the boat high on the sands and searched for timber.'

'Did you find it?'

'Oh yes, there was a forest of tall trees with dark green leaves as big as your head.'

'Were there other people?' Cella asked. 'Did you fight?'

'No, no people. But there were big cats with enormous, sharp teeth, and animals a little like pigs that tasted more like fowl when we roasted them. There were birds with wings longer even than I stand.'

'That's not saying much,' Gendry added entirely without thinking. The children all laughed, and Arya scowled.

'Size, Lord Baratheon, isn't everything.'

'Indeed, milady. But you're still short.'

'I suppose it depends on your point of view. I might argue that it's you that is over-large.'

He shrugged and lost the urge not to wink. 'Size isn't everything, milady.'

She laughed then. 'And children, we were able to repair the ship. While we were there, I collected all sorts of rocks and shells and even a jar of the strange purple stone for the Citadel to examine. We tried to bring some of the pigs back with us, but there was one problem... they were delicious, and we were famished on the voyage.'

The punchline delivered, the children laughed and left to their play or their tasks as Merry directed.

'They like you,' Gendry told her.

Arya scuffed a toe against the dirt. 'I like them.'

'Did that really happen?'

'Exactly as I told it.' A pause. 'The monster was perhaps not quite so large.'

'Are- do you- If you want to talk about it, I'll listen.'

She glanced around at the orphanage and at the castle beyond. 'Not here.'

'As you wish. Follow me then.'

Gendry led her down a path that twisted down towards the bay. A set of large boulders lay embedded in the beach. It was here that Gendry invited her to sit. It was quiet except for the constant whoosh of waves crashing against the shore and a little light spray occasionally dusted their skin.

'You don't have to tell me anything,' Gendry told her.

'I want to.'

'Do you want me to ask questions or just listen?'

Arya picked at the edge of her tunic. 'Don't know. Start with a question.'

'Where have you been?'

'Everywhere.'

'What's West of Westeros?'

'Eventually, Essos. There's... there's so much more out there than we knew before. Not much at first, except for a few islands and strange, terrible sea creatures. The farthest east is also the farthest west. Euron Greyjoy boasted of sailing to Asshai-by-the-Shadow and back. I did the same but in the other direction. I wish I could describe it all to you. It's all just...' She sighed and stared out at sea for a moment so long Gendry nearly asked if she was all right. 'So very different from here and yet people are the same. People are the same wherever you go. They might dress differently or speak differently, but they love and hate and fight and fuck. Some are kind, some are vicious. Some will take your head off for the price of a meal. Some will die for you and some will just kill you unless you kill them first.'

She took a breath and looked out to see again. 'I thought I'd find something new. Something better. I just found more of the same. Just life. It's all just... living and dying and the parts in between.'

Several fat tears dropped from Arya's eyes, and Gendry moved forward to wipe them away with his fingers. She leaned into his touch and let her eyes close.

'I've seen the world, Gendry. From Asshai, we went by land to the City of the Winged Men, where powerful men fly on leather wings, and the powerless are forced to crawl. Or rather, they glide. We travelled to Carcosa, where they haven't seen any Westerosi for ten generations. We tried to cross the Grey Waste to reach Mossovy but were turned back after a sandstorm. Then, we sailed the Jade Sea trading and collecting interesting things to bring home, meeting people who have only ever heard of Westeros by reputation.'

'What do they think of us?'

'Not much and little of it good. Most of the rest of the world thinks we're savages.' She pulled at the bottom of her tunic again. 'Can't say I disagree with them.'

'After the Jade Sea, where did you go?'

'Sothyros, New Ghis, the Basilisk Isles. Places the Westerosi rarely tread. And we sailed through the ruins of old Valyria.'

'Did you sail the Smoking Sea?' Gendry asked, thinking of his history books.

Arya laughed. 'Even I'm not that mad. But it's a dead place. Truly dead. Chills a person's heart. And I'm familiar with that feeling already.'

'Aye. And from there?'

'We got caught in a storm and ended up in the Summer Isles and met Torgo Nudho again. It was not a pleasant encounter, but we all lived, so that's something. And from there, we stopped at Lys and then... came here.'

'Stopped at Lys, eh?' Gendry couldn't resist making a joke. 'For the pleasure houses?'

Arya smirked but shook her head. 'For the poison makers.'

'Of course, milady.' A pause. 'Did you...'

'Are you asking me if I have taken lovers since I left Westeros?'

'Aye, I think I am.'

'Have you taken lovers since being here?'

He snorted, feeling a blush on his face. 'Haven't had the time.'

'Anyone can find a spare fifteen minutes, my lord.'

'Mayhaps they can, my lady. But I'm not just anyone.'

'And I'm No One. What a pair we make.'

'Two,' he admitted. 'Twas nothing like- it was everything like the other three and nothing like being with you.'

'Flowery words, Gendry. Lordship suits you.'

'Fuck off, Arya. I mean it.'

She sighed and rubbed at her eyes with her knuckles. 'I apologise. That was beneath me.'

'Yes, it was. I've laid with women, but I've only loved one of them. There's only one I'd want more than fifteen minutes with. With her, I think only forever would be enough.'

At this declaration, which surprised him as much as her, he reached out and took her hands in his. He kissed her knuckles, then turned her hands and opened out her palms to kiss them too.

'I don't want a lady, Arya. Just you. I didn't mean to say all this now when you're just back, any more than I meant it when I spouted all that shit at you when I was drunk on ale and daydreams. I mean it when you're beautiful and I love you. I mean it when I say I'll take whatever I can get from you because almost nothing from you is better than everything from anyone else.'

'I wish...' Arya blinked. 'I wish I could be what you need, Gendry. I wish I could be soft and pretty and delicate. I wish-'

'I don't need soft or pretty or delicate. Have you seen where I live? Nowt soft or delicate about it. I need someone strong and brave and fearless. Know anyone like that?'

She leaned in now to kiss his knuckles. 'I can't-'

'I know. It's all right.'

'Shut up and let me finish! I can't promise you anything. I'd like to try, really I would. I thought about you a lot when we were at sea, and all I could see was water, as far as the eye could see in every direction.'

'I know that feeling,' he muttered.'

'What?'

'Nothing.'

'I thought about you. How I want so badly to love you but... I don't think all of Arya Stark came home from Braavos or King's Landing. But I want to try. Really, I do.'

'So try. It's not difficult.'

'But it is. What if I can't stand it and I leave again? What if I can't take the politics and put a dagger through some lord's eye?'

'Well, if you want to leave, you can leave. But I will stop you putting a dagger through anyone's eye. Unless it's a duel. You can duel all you like. You can do whatever the fuck you want, Arya. Just... try doing whatever the fuck you like here, with me.'

She squeezed his fingers. 'I can... try.'

'I'd never ask more. Except for that time, I did. Just... stay a while. There's great beauty and wonder here if you care to see. Stormlanders are good people who care less about the niceties than doing right. They like good beer, and they like fighting, and they love staring storms in the eye and saying "not today, you bastards!"'

'Not today?' she echoed. 'Not today...'

'Stay a while as my guest. Now I've spilt my guts to you, I won't do it again. Unless you ask me to.'

'Or you get very drunk.'

'Aye, or that.' He kissed her fingers. 'Your future belongs to you, Arya. Nobody else.'

'I'll stay for a little while.'

'Will you give my idiot soldiers some help being less idiotic?'

'If you want.'

'I do.'

'Then, yes.'

They fell to gentle silence then, which allowed them to notice that the long-threatening storm had stopped threatening and begun pummelling the beach with tall waves and the start of hard, stinging rain.

'We should get back inside,' Gendry said quite unnecessarily.

They ran back up the path, treacherous and slippery thought it was and were soaked through by the time they made it to the mud lake that had previously been the central courtyard of the castle.

Davos, being far more practical and observant than either Gendry or Arya that day, had requested baths be drawn for them both before they were even back, so they were bustled directly into the hot water (separately) the moment they returned.

At Arya's chamber door, they paused.

'Come upstairs when you're warm and dry?' he asked. 'We'll have dinner, and we can watch the storm together. It's quite something.'

Arya's eyebrow rose almost to her hairline. 'I've never heard it called that before.'

She darted into her room where the maid was red-faced from trying to suppress a giggle.

It took rain-addled Gendry a moment, but once caught up, he laughed all the way to his own chamber.


	9. A Place to Feel Safe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, thank you so much for the kind and thoughtful comments so far!

  
Gendry's own hot bath was waiting for him, but he did not tarry either in the water or in getting dressed again. He hesitated a little considering what of his fine new attire would be appropriate for a supposedly simple meal and storm, but otherwise, he was ready and waiting, impatiently, far too soon.

Consequently, he found himself wandering the room, straightening things that were already perfectly straight and fussing over things that were someone else's job to fuss over.

Finally, after what felt like two years' waiting (and from a certain point of view, it was), someone knocked on the door.

He cleared his throat softly and hoped that his voice would hold out: 'Come in.'

Instead of Arya Stark, it was one of Roanna's serving girls with the food.

'Thank you, Dilys.'

She put the tray of stew, bread and ale down on the table near the window and then scurried bobbed on her knees a moment and left, almost knocking into Arya on the way.

'Is everyone scared of you?' she asked, eyes following Dilys' rushed steps down the stairs.

'Not usually, no. I think it's you they're all... cautious about.'

Arya's grin didn't reach her eyes. 'Reckon I'll do to them what I did to the Night King?'

'Something like that. Come in, then.'

She did, glancing around the room with some interest as she did. 'Plainer than I thought the Lord of Storm's End would have.'

'It was fancier,' he admitted. 'But I got rid of what the damp hadn't already ruined. Didn't feel right.'

Arya ran her hand over the embroidered bedspread, fingertips brushing against stitched stag antlers. 'This looks famil- did Sansa make this?'

He nodded. 'The Queen in the North sent it on the first anniversary of my becoming lord. Said-'

'What did she say?'

'She said she'd given up hope of making any maiden's cloaks, so... she stitched this for me and made something similar for King Bran.'

'She's always been good at this sort of thing. I wasn't.'

'That's not news to me.' He chuckled and started to feel a little less on edge. 'Want to eat?'

Arya just nodded as she slid onto one of the carved chairs at the table. 'Looks good.'

'Roanna is an excellent cook. Glad she stayed even after the last lord was killed.'

Arya tore off some bread from the dark loaf and dipped it into her steaming bowl of stew. 'Did a lot of people stay here? Even after Renly and Stannis died?'

Gendry took his own place and swirled a stag-topped spoon in his bowl, letting the heat out. 'Aye.'

'But why?'

'You're such a highborn sometimes, Arya. Where else would they go? It's a home and a job, even if the lord isn't here. I'm glad - I couldn't have made any kind of success of it here otherwise.'

'Course you could.'

'No, I-'

'Course you could, Gendry,' she repeated, spearing a piece of stew-soaked bread with a fork. 'You're not stupid.'

'You've changed your tune.'

'Well... I never meant it.'

'Of course not.'

'Perhaps I did... but I was too young to know any better. Your being unaware of some things didn't make you stupid just as my being young and naive made me less... understanding... than I knew at the time. We both learnt quickly, and that's why we're still alive.'

'That's right, I suppose.' He took a mouthful of stew. 'This is good.'

Arya took a sip of ale and screwed up her nose. 'This isn't.'

'It's terrible, but it's all we've got left. The Reach lords drive a hard bargain when it comes to selling us beer.'

'Make your own.'

'With what?'

'How do you make beer? It's just barley and hops, isn't it? You could grow those here.'

'Barley and hops, yeast and sugar,' he corrected. 'We've got all of those things except hops, and none of the Reach bastards will sell 'em. Can't blame them, I suppose.'

'Well,' Arya smiled the little smile that he knew meant she was up to something. 'You wouldn't believe some of what I brought back with me.'

'What did you bring back?'

'Well, there's a city in Far Essos - or Near Essos I suppose, depending on your point of view - that makes the best beer you ever tasted in your life. Not heavy or bitter like this muck. And I asked how they make it. They showed me and sold me several sacks of hops. Their climate is similar to here. Bit drier, I suppose. I was going to send some to Sansa for the glass gardens at Winterfell and the rest to Bran, but if you want them, you can have them.'

'You'd do that for me?'

'Of course. I don't know how to grow hops, of course, but I'm sure there are people here or nearby who do.'

A silence fell between them then, not entirely uncomfortable and punctuated by the sounds of eating and drinking.

'What else did you bring back?' he asked once some time had passed.

'All sorts of things. Nothing like gold or riches like that. Useful things. I have some ore from Carcosa that might interest a skilled smith. Do you know any?'

He snorted. 'You made that joke yesterday. You're getting predictable.'

Although it was a joke, Arya's hand tightened around her spoon. 'I better not be.'

'Why?'

'Because that's how they get you.'

'Who's "they"?'

'Whatever "they" is coming after you. And there always is. If not today, tomorrow.'

'That's a sad way to live.'

'And yet since I was a child, it's the only truth I've known. It's the truth you've known too. Perhaps you've forgotten here.'

'Nobody is coming after you here. You're safe here. If you want to be.'

The new silence that fell upon them was cold and heavy like thundering clouds pouring freezing rain upon the land. After a moment, she released the spoon - it fell to the table with a clunk.

'I'll never be safe,' she whispered. 'Not really.'

Without thinking about it, Gendry's hand shot out to take hers. 'You're Arya Stark, and you're safe here. You're not "no one". You're not just some Night King-slayer. You're not a princess or a lady or anything you don't want to be. You're... I mean, I know you can look after yourself better than anyone else in any of the kingdoms, but you're safe here. If me being a lord means anything at all, it has to mean that. It has to.'

'I'm so tired,' she mumbled, fingertips grazing against his skin even as she pulled gently away to stare out of the window at the storm.

'So... rest.'

'It's not that simple.'

'Course it is. I'm the Lord of Storm's End, and if I say you get to rest here for as long as you like without a single soul bothering you, then that's what will happen.'

'Power went right to your head, didn't it?'

'Not until just now, no. What good is any of it if I can't help you? None.'

'I have nightmares. I'll wake the whole castle every night.'

'Nobody sleeps anywhere near here except me.'

'So I'll disturb you.'

'I sleep like the dead. Or so someone told me once or twice.'

A tug at her lips then, a ghost of a memory of a smile from long ago. 'I remember.'

'You're safe, and you're welcome here, Arya. No matter anything else, that'll always be true.'

'All right, then.' Arya curled up in the chair like a child or a cat to more comfortably watch the wildness of the weather outside. 'I'll stay for a while.'

Gendry allowed himself the smallest of hopeful grins.

*

"A while" lasted longer than Lord Baratheon might have dreamt of even in his wildest of wild dreams. Moon after moon passed with Arya still present at Storm's End.

Arya had been right about the nightmares. At first, she awoke screaming almost every night, and Gendry ran down to her room to sit with her until they both fell asleep. As she began to feel the truth of 'you are safe here', the nightmares reduced, leaving Gendry to his own rest more often than not.

They were friends. Gendry, though something in his heart yearned for something else, was too relieved and pleased to have his friend returned to him to contemplate scaring her away. If she wished for anything more than friendship, she made no sign that he could interpret as such.

Arya made friends with almost everyone, as was her particular skill, and soon it was almost like she'd always been there.

The orphans all adored her, but none more than Cella, who took to following Arya around like a shadow whenever she could get away from Merry, Aelinor and school.

One such morning when Gendry had been able to finish hearing petitions early, he emerged into the fresh post-rain sunshine to find Arya and Cella in the yard with training swords. From the way Cella's hair stuck to her forehead and the way even Arya looked a little out of breath, they had been going for some time.

A small crowd gathered to watch, and Gendry joined them, hanging back to keep an eye without being seen as their lord.

Arya, he found, was a natural teacher. She was far more patient and calm than he'd ever give her credit for - no matter the stumbles or errors Cella made, she was there to correct and help without frustration or anger.

It was then that he realised that the lads were watching her keenly not for entertainment but to learn.

A quick flick of her wrist took Cella's sword from her hand to the dirt. The boys clapped, and Cella looked most down-hearted.

'You did very well,' Arya told her quickly. 'You lasted longer than yesterday, and even longer than the day before that. And that's how you learn.'

Cella nodded, red-faced and a little glum. 'I nearly got you!'

'Nearly indeed,' Arya replied with a laugh. It was enough to rally Cella's spirits, and she sprinted off, back to the orphanage.

The young lads of the castle swarmed Arya with questions and requests for similar training.

'D'you want to be my Master of Arms?' Gendry asked, loud enough to catch everyone's attention. 'I think we'd all appreciate it.'

Seven gods bless them, the storm-lads were effusive and determined in their agreement. She frowned and for a moment he deeply regretted making any kind of suggestion of permanence.

'Well,' she said at last. 'Someone needs to teach these green boys where to stick the pointy end.'

A rousing cheer rose up so loud that others looked up from their own tasks to see what was occurring. Arya smiled and blushed a little at such praise, but said nothing and made no attempt to run away.

The lads dispersed soon after that, to return to the work they'd neglected.

'You don't have to,' Gendry spoke in a rush. 'I mean, I spoke without thinking and-'

'It was a good idea. I'll do it. For a while, at least.'

'I'm glad.'

'You've been released early?'

'Got everything done. The rest of the day is mine. Until someone needs something.'

'Do you want to ride out with me?' she asked, toeing the dirt and not looking at him.

Heat rose up from his belly, swelled his chest and inevitably turned his ears red. 'Always, milady.'

'Come on, then. Before anyone notices and tries to make us do something boring.'

Gendry followed her to the stables, and within only minutes, they were free.

 


	10. The River's Edge

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay in getting this up. New Day Job is time-consuming and energy-disrupting, and I've been giving the other time and energy to original writing.
> 
> Previously - Arya and Gendry decided to leave Storm's End behind, for just a little while.

Arya and Gendry rode hard through the woods south of Storm's End for some time until the sun was at its highest point and their horses slowed to demand a rest.

 

The woods were thickly forested. The sun could hardly get through the canopy of leaves and branches, but nor could the rain, so they were well-protected from whatever weather was occurring above. A lingering feeling of permanent damp hung in the air, leaving a tang on the lips and the ground soft underfoot.

 

Arya thrust her arms up into the air, a broad grin upon her face. 'I win!'

 

Gendry brought his horse to a significantly more sedate stop. 'We were racing?'

 

'Of course.' Arya leapt nimbly from the saddle and led her horse to a fast-flowing little stream close by, before kicking off her boots and rolling up her breeches. She perched herself on a smooth rock and thrust her feet into the river.

 

Gendry dismounted and followed her to the water. Both horses ducked their heads and drank thirstily as their riders settled down on the riverbank. With bare feet in the rushing water, Arya lay back to stare up at the sky, here less shrouded by branches and leaves. 

 

'I'm glad I came to Storm's End.' Her voice was a whisper so soft that Gendry wasn't sure she'd spoken at all.

 

'So am I.'

 

'I'm glad to get away for a while.'

 

'So am I.' Gendry hesitated a moment, then pulled off his own boots and dipped a cautious toe. 'It's cold.'

 

'It's lovely.'

 

With a deep inhalation and a resigned exhalation, Gendry unfolded so that he too lay down, though on soft, damp grass rather than cold hard rock. Arya kicked a foot out and splashed him.

 

He flinched, trying to brush his previously dry breeches. 'Oi!'

 

She just laughed, loud and loud, each peal ringing into the air until tears rolled from her eyes and she gasped for breath.

 

'Feel better now?' he grumbled.

 

'Much,' she replied, sucking in air. 'Thank you for sacrificing a shard of your dignity for my entertainment.'

 

'Eh, dignity isn't everything.'

 

For some time, they lay side by side, content to remain still and quiet for a spell. At some point - and no matter how Gendry wracked his brains later, he never remembered why, when or how - Arya's hand became entwined with his.

 

'I like the people,' she told him. 'They remind me of northerners, in a way.'

 

'It's all just water falling from the sky. North's water is colder, is all.'

 

'You've become a philosopher since I left.'

 

'Lots of time to think late at night.'

 

Quiet then. If Gendry was the gambling sort, he might lay odds that Arya carried around a chunk of guilt about sodding off West and leaving him here. But, he wasn't the gambling sort and didn't dare assume she felt even half as strongly as he did.

 

'You sleep badly?' she asked eventually.

 

'You're not the only one who has nightmares, you know. Not as bad as right after, but-'

 

She squeezed his hand. 'I know. I'm sorry.'

 

'What for?'

 

'I should've reached the Godswood earlier.'

 

'What?'

 

'It's my fault, you see. If I'd made it sooner, Theon would be alive. And Beric, maybe. And so many people I never even knew.'

 

Gendry rose up to rest on his elbows. 'Forgive me if I sound brusque, milady but are you really blaming yourself for what happened that night? Because that's not how anyone else remembers it. You saved us.'

 

'Not soon enough.'

 

'Way I see it... there was no soon enough, Arya. Only the exact moment it happened. Nobody else could've done it. Theon Greyjoy and Beric knew, like the rest of us, that they were unlikely to see the dawn. They fought anyway.'

 

'Beric died for me.'

 

'Again. Beric died  _ again  _ and for the last time. If he were here, I think he'd remind you he died for the cause, not for any one person. Not even you. He helped you because he knew you were our best chance. Our only real chance.'

 

'But-'

 

'None of that, Arya. Any of us would've done the same a thousand times over, knowing that the alternative was endless night, for always.'

 

'I should've died that night.' Arya's words echoed with a matter-of-fact edge. With her free hand, she skimmed across her almost-unblemished neck.

 

'I'll never believe that. You were meant to live so that everything you endured wasn't a complete waste. And you have.'

 

A long sigh in response. 'Mayhaps.'

 

'It is known.' He chuckled remembering the Essosi he'd met in Winterfell while making them weapons, then sobered upon the recollection of what happened after King's Landing.

 

'I ran into a khalasar on the way across Essos from the other side.'

 

'What happened?'

 

'It was fortunate my reputation preceded me. They- the Dothraki don't like outsiders.'

 

'Did they attack you?'

 

'Not exactly. Well, only until the Khal recognised the Stark banner from his time with Daenerys.'

 

'You were carrying a Stark banner?'

 

'Not exactly. We... well, we used one of the ship's old sails as a wagon-cover. Probably saved our lives.' 

 

A cold shiver ran down Gendry's spine at how close Arya had come to never returning home again. Unconsciously, he grasped her hand tighter.

 

'I'm well,' she whispered. 'I came back.'

 

'You did. You came here, to be precise. Of all the places in all the kingdoms in all the lands, you came to  _ mine _ .' For one of the first times in his life, Gendry's heart and soul burned hot with pride that the Stormlands were  _ his  _ and he was theirs.

 

'I did.'

 

'Why?'

 

'You know why.'

 

'I don't know.'

 

'Gendry-'

 

'I really don't. I asked- you said no. You rode off, and I saw you once more across a tent before you sailed off. So... no, I don't know.'

 

Arya sat up then, shaking wooziness from her head. Still gripping his hand, she brought it up and brushed a kiss against his knuckles.

 

'I came here because there's nowhere else for me to go.'

 

'Well, you're the only princess of both the Six Kingdoms and the North, so I reckon as like you'd be welcome in most of Westeros.'

 

'That's not what I mean. This is the only place for me to go because this is where you are.'

 

Well, fuck. Gendry's head became so light it felt he might float away. Then, several years' desolate grief and hopeless yearning weighed down upon him until he thought the rock beneath him might crack.

 

'You can't say things like that.'

 

'It's the truth.'

 

'Yeah, but- you can't  _ say _  things like that to me. Not after... everything.'

 

'I thought you'd be pleased.'

 

Was he pleased? Possibly. He wasn't  _ not _  pleased, but-

 

'Who's to say you won't just fuck off again?'

 

'I will almost certainly  _ fuck off _  again,' she sniped, returning his bitterness with indignance. 'But I won't go far, and I won't go for long.'

 

'How do I know that, Arry?'

 

'Because I give you my most solemn oath.'

 

'No, you don't. I asked for that, and you told me to fuck off.'

 

'I did not!' In a flash, she moved from lying comfortable and still to up on all fours, haunches up like a hissing cat. 'I told you to be happy and find a lady worthy of you! I only ever wanted you to be happy, you giant idiot!'

 

For reasons he never totally understood, this was the moment that Gendry's temper  _ snapped _ . As Arya had, but with less blinding speed, he got up to his feet.

 

'Don't call me an idiot!' 

 

His voice was so loud that birds in the trees retreated in a flutter of wings and a deer some distance away bounded away to find its mate. The river itself seemed to grow silent under the force of his fury.

 

'I don't have book learning like some of you highborn lot, but I'm not an idiot! I know what I'm about. Do  _ you _ ? Or are you still roaming around in search of whatever it is? I know my place, whether I want it or not. Do you? I'm trying to make people's lives better. What about you? I'm trying to get over that fucking war. What about you?'

 

Arya did not answer except to retreat from her position of 'imminent attack' to one of calmer consideration.

 

'I recovered from  _ you _ ,' he continued. 'I learnt to get on without you. Twice! And then you came back.'

 

'Did you recover?' she asked, voice small. 'Or did you just find a way to ignore the feelings? That's what I did. Until I didn't want to ignore it anymore.'

 

He deflated, rage quelled as quick as it had come. 'You know the answer to that.'

 

'I don't.'

 

'There's no recovering from you, milady. None at all. That's what scares me. I... I don't want you to be owt you don't want to be. I don't want you to be a lady like those other ones... but fuck me, Arya, I can't  _ take it.' _

 

'What if I promise to stay for as long as I possibly can? It might... Gendry, it could be a year or twenty. I don't know. But I'll always come back. I saw a lot while I was gone across the sea, and the one thing I learnt for sure was that I always want to come home if you're here. Spending these last few moons here... just showed me I was right.'

 

'You want to stay?'

 

'For as long as I can. For as long as you'll have me.'

 

'I'd have you  _ forever _ , Arya.'

 

A deep breath. 'Yes, I know.'

 

'Promise?'

 

'I promise. Even if-'

 

'Even if what?'

 

'After what happened in Braavos, I'm not sure I can have children, and you need an h-'

 

'The one thing Storm's End has no want of is children. We've plenty of orphans, or haven't you noticed?'

 

'It's not the same-'

 

'If King Bran decrees it so, then it is.'

 

'Baratheon blood is-'

 

'Who gives a fuck about that?'

 

'Your lords do! You're here because of that blood. No other reason. I mean... Daenerys would've found some other way to reward you for your service, but- you're here because of your blood.'

 

'And I'm also proving that  _ bastard blood _  is a myth. What with me not being evil or whatever it is people think. It's just blood. Don't get me wrong: I'd like nothing more than to have a dozen babies running around who look  _ just  _ like you. But-;

 

'A dozen? Because-'

 

'Joking, Arya. But... it's not a condition of you staying or being welcome or being my wife or whatever you want. Just... say you'll stay? For as long as you can... and that will be enough.'

 

'You just said you can't bear to see me go again.'

 

'If I know you'll come back to me? I think I can endure.'

 

Arya all but launched herself from her rock. Had he been weaker or less substantial, they might have crashed to the ground. As it was, he caught her, hands gripping the backs of her thighs. She pressed a kiss against his mouth, and he was too surprised at first to respond as he had dreamt of so many times.

 

And then, he did.

 

*


	11. A Disappearance; An Arrival

Davos was waiting in the yard when they returned - eventually - and understood something had changed between them without being told.

 

'A few ravens arrived while you were out, my lord,' he said. 'If you've some time now?'

 

'I have. Come on, then.'

 

Davos said nothing until they were safely sat in the library's peace and quiet. 'So, lad.'

 

'Yes?'

 

'Sorted yourselves out, have you?'

 

'Seems that way.'

 

'Should we prepare for a wedding?'

 

'Only if you want Arya to stab you in the eye.'

 

'Noted.'

 

'But... we came to an understanding.'

 

'That's what the young folks are calling it nowadays, eh?'

 

Gendry felt blood rush to his face in a furious blush and never felt so much like Davos' son as in that moment.

 

'If you won't be getting married, what should we tell people?'

 

'I don't really give a shit what we tell people. People can fuck off.'

 

'Romantic bliss hasn't made you any less of a grumpy sod, my lord.'

 

Gendry rolled his eyes. 'Ain't no such thing as miracles, Davos. But... thank you for being here for me when... when it wasn't good.'

 

Davos clapped Gendry on the shoulder. 'You deserve to be happy, lad. Always have.'

 

Scalding tears burned Gendry's eyes and a thick lump formed in his throat. He hadn't always felt worthy of much, let alone a castle and a fierce warrior queen to love him. Mayhaps he'd never really feel worthy of it, but at least now he could work to make himself so.

 

'One day, Arya might say yes to getting wed proper. For now, the promise she gave is good enough for me.'

 

'I reckon that's all that matters,' Davos mused. 'If the last few years taught us anything... it's that it might be the only thing that does. As for the lords and whoever else might see it differently? We'll find a way.'

 

*

 

In time, the rest of Storm's End came to understand that Gendry and Arya had an understanding. If people inside the castle and beyond inferred from this that they had married privately... well, nobody rushed to correct them. Requests that Gendry host lords in possession of eligible daughters fell almost to nothing and peace and quiet settled upon the Stormlands.

 

Mighty indeed is the land that has a kind, competent and happy lord. The Stormlands' beer-making capacity expanded as the rest of the kingdoms discovered the luxurious, rich quality of the product; its metalworking reputation grew across the Narrow Sea until Gendry was obliged to turn away smiths looking for work or to apprentice at the forge with Merrell (and sometimes himself, when he was lucky enough to retreat to the fires).

 

By the time Arya had been at Storm's End for a year or more, the assumption everyone made was that she was Lady Baratheon. In deed, if not name, this was certainly true. As Master of Arms, she trained the men; as the Lady of Storm's End, she cared for the people from the smallest infant in the orphanage to the oldest of crones living in the Rainwood. She did not generally  _ answer _  to the title Lady Baratheon but most everyone assumed this was because she kept the Stark name for herself.

 

After a couple of years, it seemed to most folk that Arya Stark had  _ always _  been at Storm's End. Almost nobody even remembered that there had been a time when Lord Gendry was alone, or a time when he and Arya had looked upon each other with anything less than deep, affectionate devotion.

 

Then one day, perhaps a moon or two above two years since her arrival, Arya Stark mounted her horse, rode out of the keep and did not return that night. Nor the next, nor several dozen more nights.

 

This wasn't exceptional at first, for the lady was well-known for disappearing every so often. The whispers began once a week had passed. After a second week passed, the gossip turned to genuine concern - for Lord Gendry if nothing else.

 

Gendry responded to Arya's absence by retreating to the yard to beat the ever-loving shit out of anyone who got in the way and by hammering metal until it sang out loud. Petitions dropped off as anyone who could wait decided to do just that until she returned and he was more likely to give them what they wanted.

 

Arya had been away before - had even ridden to the Crossroads to meet her sister's caravan on its way to King's Landing. She'd gone to Dorne, and to the Citadel, but always with a proper leaving and date of return.

 

This time, nobody seemed sure if she was coming back and nobody dared risk limb or life by asking Lord Gendry about it.

 

Two and a half moons passed. The mood at Storm's End grew steadily worse until Cella, of all people, broached the subject.

 

'Where's Arya?' she asked, twirling a sword as Arya had taught her for fun one stormy day. Gendry was nearing his second hour in the training yard, and most of his men were trying to find excuses not to face him. Only Cella was brave enough to approach him in his grim mood.

 

He wiped at his brow and did not meet Cella's gaze. 'Away.'

 

Sword still twirling, she was not put off by him. 'For how long?'

 

Around them, the yard fell as silent as such a place ever can as she finally asked the question that had hung over them for weeks. He did not reply at first.

 

'Dunno,' he said, the sound low and clipped, pretending that he did not see everyone around him waiting with bated breath.

 

Cella blinked once, twice and then shrugged. 'Why don't you know?'

 

'Because she doesn't tell me everything.'

 

'Why not?'

 

'Because I'm not her fucking owner, Cella.'

 

'But she-'

 

'She'll be back. Or she won't. But I'm not going to ride after her and drag her back by her hair.'

 

'She'd kill you if you even tried.'

 

'I know.'

 

'I hope she comes home soon. I miss her. She's funny and doesn't laugh at me when I muck up my training.' Cella sent a fierce glare at some of the younger members of the Baratheon guard, who were not as welcoming to young girls in the yard as their Master of Arms was.

 

'Same, Cell. Same.' Gendry sighed and set his hammer down. 'I'm done for the day. Better go read some letters.'

 

'Sounds boring.'

 

'It is, but I'll do it anyway.'

 

Everyone else breathed a sigh of relief, and regular activity resumed.

 

*

 

It was a dark and stormy night when Arya Stark returned to Storm's End. The stablemaster was barely even awake when she galloped in and jumped down from her saddle.

 

'Is he still awake?' she asked as the stablemaster roused himself and took over care of her horse.

 

'Feast still going,' he grunted. 'One lord or another decided to come and pay tribute to his lord d'reckly.'

 

'Which one?'

 

The stablemaster shrugged, earning a grin from Arya. She ran into the keep and down into the warm, dry kitchens, her coat dripping onto the stone floor. She rubbed her hands together to warm her aching-cold fingers.

 

'Lady Arya!' Roanna almost dropped her tray of fresh-baked pies at sight of the sodden and sudden appearance of her lady in her kitchen. 'Dilys, help Lady Arya.'

 

Dilys snapped to attention, more from fear of Roanna than Arya. 'Yes, milady.'

 

They went up the backstairs to the Lord's chambers, where Dilys helped Arya strip out of her muddy clothes and into the bath prepared in a rush with hastily-delivered hot water.

 

Arya was almost clean when the chamber door crashed open. There stood the Baratheon lord in all his ancestral fury.

 

'Where in the seven fucking hells have you been?' he bellowed.

 

Arya did not respond to his high emotion and replied quietly: 'Sod Seven anything. I rode up to the Isle of Faces.'

 

'Why? And why didn't you tell me?'

 

Now her temper snapped to match his: 'I didn't know I was going there until I got there!'

 

'I don't care about you leaving,' he shouted, 'but why didn't you tell me? And why didn't you send a message? Fuck- If you went to the Isle then you must've passed by the Crossroads and seen Hot Pie! You could've had him send a message if you couldn't be bothered! You're not a fucking prisoner here, Arry, but do you know how fucking worried I've been? For all I knew you were dead in a fucking ditch! Or sailing across the fucking Western Sea or riding beyond the fucking Wall! Or you'd just fucking left me!'

 

Arya's shoulders had risen almost to her ears as she grew angrier through his rant, but then they dropped low. 'I'm sorry that you thought that. I... I told you I'd never be gone forever and I meant it.'

 

'Yeah? Well, knowing it and believing it are two different things! Why did you- I just- I thought you were happy and- never mind. I know better than to expect you to- It's-' He waved a hand around as he failed to put his feelings into words. 'Never mind.'

 

'I am sorry,' she repeated, most uncharacteristically. 'I just...'

 

'What happened? Did something happen here? What made you rush away without telling me?'

 

'I had... there were dreams and... I'm sorry.'

 

'You keep saying that. I'm going to start thinking you're a Faceless Man - another one - coming to kill me if you say that word one more time. You have bad dreams all the time. What made you run away this time.'

 

'I didn't run away!' Her anger returned at that accusation. 'I ran  _ to _  a place. I had dreams that... Nymeria was there and I was there and- I needed to find a heart tree - a real one - and the Isle of Faces was the nearest place in this stupid south.'

 

Gendry took several long deep breaths to bring himself back under good regulation. For all that fury was a Baratheon trait, he loathed losing his temper. 'And now?'

 

Arya sighed, took a deep breath and with her hands gripping the side of the metal bathtub, she stood.

 

Gendry stared, mute and stunned a moment. 'So...'

 

'Aye.'

 

'You said you couldn't-'

 

'I said I didn't think it was possible.'

 

Gendry all-but-leapt across the short distance between them and hauled her out of the water and into his grasp.

 

'Put me down, or I'll gut you in your sleep.'

 

'No, you won't.'

 

'I will gut you!'

 

'Oh, I know, but you'll do it when I'm awake.' He deposited her on the bed and reached for her robe, where it had stayed folded on her side since her leaving. 'I'd better get you some new clothes made.'

 

'Least you can do,' Arya replied, burrowing herself into the bed sleepily. 'It's all your fault.'

 

Gendry brushed his fingertips across her torso where it had begun to expand. 'Thank you, Arya.'

 

'What for?'

 

'Coming home.'

 

'Haven't you worked it out yet?'

 

'What?'

 

'You're never, ever getting rid of me. I always come back.'

 

'Eventually.'

 

She smiled, soft in a way Arya Stark only ever allowed in the safety of this room with this one other person.

 

In the days to come, Gendry Baratheon's feelings would veer wildly between euphoria, joy, terror and fear as he contemplated the new future set before him, but mostly he was left with a profound sense of love. Love for Arya, for the child, and for the place he would pass onto the child one day.

 

And if the Storm's End folks teased their lord, it was strictly in affection, for this they knew to be true: Gendry belonged to Storm's End as much as it belonged to him.

 

Gendry Baratheon fell in love at first sight twice in his life. Once, when he first laid eyes on Storm's End, and then again when his daughter was handed to him as she took her first breaths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is done. I'm not sure i love the cheesy AF ending but perhaps they deserve something sweet and cheesy....
> 
> And it does mean the other story becomes its sequel, so I'll link 'em.
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone for reading this silliness. It's been a nice diversion from the crapsack dumpster fire of a world we find ourselves in.


End file.
